Somnius
by lemonn
Summary: The wards on Privet Drive fall and Harry is thrown into a new world at Malfoy Manor full of lies, terror and Severus Snape.
1. Kicking and damaging and scared

**A/N: This takes place in the summer between Harry's fifth and sixth year.**

* * *

**Part 1: Severus**

When Harry Potter left the Dursleys, walked straight out with no apparent hesitation, leaving the wards that his mother had _died _for straining and useless, leaving everything everyone had done for him, leaving safety, sanity and the chance to survive, he also left Severus Snape swaying where he stood. Barely a week into summer and already Harry Potter was causing trouble. Snape's upper lip could only curl.

The woodland full of Death Eaters stirred with something greater than it ever had before. What had been neutral ground was now tainted with cruel words, dripped in torture, so it seemed like the trees themselves rustled with anticipation, with the same feelings as the Death Eaters within it. Everyone felt it. Dark Marks were attuned to the Dark Lord's feelings. Such a giddy happiness could only mean one thing: the blood wards had fallen. Harry Potter was theirs to take.

It was beyond. After all their effort. Potter was undeserving, ungrateful, a waste of his mother's sacrifice. If he died now, what was _her_ death for? Nothing. She may as well be alive now, next to him now… Severus's fists clenched, and he didn't even have the clarity of mind to recognise the symptom of anger. Just that it hurt.

Perhaps Potter had shown his usual surge of brattiness, so much so that the Dursleys had closed the door on him – or, less likely, it was an injustice by the Dursleys. Severus didn't care. All that mattered was that the boy was no longer protected. Potter had rejected their protection in a hot-headed moment of teenage rage, no doubt, walking out on his relatives. Another in Potter's place, and Severus would not be in front of the Dark Lord right now, preparing himself to do his worst. But of course it was the black-haired, bespectacled child of James who held all their fates in his thoughtless hands.

The Dark Lord's grin stilled and he lifted his wand it was a diamond glinting in the light, towards Severus. No spell came out of it. He was pointing.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said heavily, in trustworthy, silky voice that reminded Severus of the first time he had bowed in front of the Dark Lord, kissed the hem of those robes that clothed such power and felt every brush of fear of Death Eater's lips, as they kissed it with all their terrorised, beating hearts. And all of Severus's torn own. Now his heart took no part; it belonged to one person only.

Experience and intuition told Severus to stand up after a shorter time than normal, the acidic taste of the material still on his mouth rather than the original sweet of belonging; the Dark Lord was too excited for Severus to fool around too long.

"We must find him," said the Dark Lord. "The wards fell less than a minute ago."

The unasked question from the Dark Lord was _Where do you think he would go?_ (The Dark Lord didn't like directly asking for help).

(And Snape didn't like being wrong). The answer was tricky. Mrs. Figg's? The park? The Leaky Cauldron? Potter had just disobeyed the direct instructions of the Dumbledore, so Snape couldn't imagine he would go anywhere near the Wizarding World.

"Diagon Alley or The Leaky Cauldron, my Lord."

"Then you shall search in Diagon Alley and the surrounding area," The Dark Lord then turned to rest of the Death Eaters, the circle close. "You shall all cover London!" Then, the Dark Lord eyes fell where Severus knew they would. "And Bellatrix, dear Bellatrix, you shall go to Privet Drive."

The lipstick was cracking as she smiled, oblivious to the murmurings of thinly-veiled annoyance from the Death Eaters around her - which soon turned into "My Lord's" at the Dark Lord's stinging glare and a faint stir of relief that the Dark Lord was too fixed on Harry Potter and too weary of time to punish them (for now, at least).

Snape met the Dark Lord's gaze, whose lips lip curled, narrowing the slits of his eyes even further. Snape knew that the Dark Lord felt on the edge of threatened when Severus met his eyes - but it could also resulted in the Dark Lord viewing Severus as strong and reliable. Perhaps, if the Dark Lord had been a better Legilimens and Snape a worse Occlumens, the Dark Lord would have found Snape's throbbing panic. Anger. Despair.

Snape felt a habitual probe of his mind. Then, it was over. Even now, the relief and surprise of survival was not dampened. How many times could one man dodge death? Especially someone like Severus Snape.

The Dark Lord had barely skimmed the surface of Snape's thoughts, quick in the excitement of being so close to killing Harry Potter. Again. And still no success…

Had the Dark Lord not noticed a pattern?

Perhaps this time there would be less of the less of the grand speeches and more of the _killing_ thing-

"And now my Death Eaters…"

Apparently not.

"The time has come for me to rise and the enemy, Harry Potter to fall."

The rustlings of Death Eaters stilled; all eyes were on their Lord. There was a tightness in them, the same kind that a cat gets before it jumps to pounce.

"Go!"

As one, all the Dark Lord's Death Eaters spun on the spot, Severus too. When he landed, it was with more dizziness than apparition would give him alone. He stilled himself on the nearest wall. He had done the wrong thing, under the pressure he had done the wrong thing. Instead of ensuring that it would be he that would find Potter, he had made it that he'd be sent to the last place Potter would be! Not that Severus had followed the Dark Lord's orders, not now, not with this at stake. Not again.

Privet Drive was quiet, but Severus placed a Disillusionment charm on himself all the same. Bellatrix was roaming. Would be here soon. Number Four was ablaze, every window that Snape could see had its light on, at odds with the lifeless, dark neighbourhood. The Dursleys were probably panicking.

Snape craned his neck to see the uppermost branches of the tree Potter had run up from the dog. The shadowy branch Potter had clung onto. With white fingers. At least his relatives had tried to teach him some sense of humility; it was right for Potter to sometimes feel the whip of laughter_ at_ rather than with him… Only deserved.

With his wand held in front of him, the muggle neighbourhood unable to hide anything at the force of magic. Everything about it reminded him of the vile primness of Petunia. That woman who hated anything different; Potter and her must get on. Snape's eyes glinted as he walked, searching from hiding place to hiding place, up trees and around corners, raking every shadow. None of the places were likely, but since when did likely apply to Potter?

Potter must be somewhere around. It had only a few minutes since the wards had fallen according to the Dark Lord (_how _exactly he knew, Severus didn't understand, but Dumbledore had warned that as much could happen). The boy was not resourceful enough to get far in such a small amount of time. He could even still be in the house.

Yet, from what Severus had seen of Potter's mind…Snape stalked in the opposite direction from Number Four, towards Arabella's Figg's, the closest and quickest Potter could get to magic. Snape felt a small understanding – and then a rush of bile. His and Potter's uncommonly strong affection for the magical world were for the most different of reasons.

Then, he stopped. He had reached Arabella's. He had found Potter. For a moment, there was nothing he could do to move himself any further: slumped, darkened by bruises and shadows, in the doorway of Arabella's house. Potter. Eyes open. Severus could see green.

Severus never ran; no situation warranted such an impulsive action, one that barely saved time, exhausted you and limited thinking; it only showed desperation. Yet, his legs were moving him and he no longer had any control and he was running-

By Potter's side, he was on his knees, one hand on Potter's shoulder. Deep breaths through gritted teeth, airy like a deflation.

"Potter!"

And his mind was rearing.

A wild animal.

Kicking and damaging and scared.

_Think, Severus. Who are you? Some Hufflepuff nitwit? The practicalities first. _

Severus removed his hand and put it behind his back. If he was seen trying to rouse Potter, he would be tortured and then killed. Especially at the report of Bellatrix, who was just waiting for Severus to show any sign of disloyalty.

Snape heard her before he saw her: Bellatrix running towards him, loud breaths and light, almost silent steps. Her whirling dress and wand at almost amusing odds with the Muggle neighbourhood around her. Though Snape had his wand in his hand, casting a spell would only self-destruct. Bellatrix would cast one faster, given she wasn't weighed down by Harry Potter – and then his attack would be proof that Severus was betraying the Dark Lord.

Severus could call the Dark Lord -give Potter to him, making it trickier to rescue him but making it easier for Snape to continue as spy. Or he could apparate - risking Bellatrix spelling him first, bringing him to the Dark Lord, torture and certain death…but, if it worked, potentially saving Potter's life.

Which was his job, was it not.

It was Lily's voice that made him decide what to do next, the same that had accepted Severus when no one else had, when even himself cold not. But the words were different. Rather than telling him how she would lose Severus if he continued on the same path, she told him how she would lose Harry. Severus had already lost Lily her beloved husband. Severus had already lost Lily her own life. The least he could do was keep the only part of Lily left alive.

Snape lifted Potter. Though he hardly was one to judge how heavy fifteen year old boys should feel, the load seemed even lighter than even Potter's small stature should account for. Side-long apparition with an unconscious passenger was never a good idea, but it didn't appear that Severus had much choice. And why was he not spinning yet?

_For me_, she had said when she had asked Severus to look after Harry Potter. James's son, but hers too. With he Gryffindor bravery, and perhaps a little Slytherin cunning. _For me, Severus…_

_For her_ he spun-

A spell, bright and red rushed through the darkness towards him. His legs buckled, Potter still in his arms. Gravel grazed his cheek as Bellatrix's steps reverberated in his ear, louder and louder as she walked towards them. Severus clutched onto Potter's wrist as he raised his head.

Bellatrix pressed her hand to her Mark with a grin. The Dark Lord appeared in Little Whinging, gleaming with pleasure and looking just as out of place as Bellatrix. He grabbed Potter's arm, then spun himself away with his prize. Bellatrix did the same to Snape, first leaning down and whispering in his ear with the delicate voice of a small woman. A rose with thorns.

"I always knew… You are a _traitor_. And_ I_ will be his most loved servant. The reason he captured both Severus Snape and Harry Potter!"

Severus stood, his loss tingling but he was not one to wallow: he exhaled into the empty air once, before deciding to let Bellatrix continue to grip him and whirl them both to the Dark Lord. Though he had vaguely flirted with apparating to Dumbledore, he dismissed that quickly: his priority was to keep Lily's son alive. Harry Potter.

Where had it all gone wrong?


	2. a snake silently survives

The Dark Lord stood over Snape, who lay on the floor looking up through a blur – of tears? Pain? Sheer terror? Snape felt broken but he had not yet broke. It was not physically possible for him to admit working for Dumbledore. Unthinkable, not an option. This way, taking the pain, was better. It would save lives, end the war more quickly, keep Lily's son safe… All those impossibly good things… Snape rarely worked on slim chances, but it was all he had.

Severus's cover story was that he had been trying to move Potter to a more private place by foot, where the Dark Lord could arrive with no chance of the Order capturing him. The spin was just the way he moved…

Weaker than some of Gryffindor homework excuses. Countless owls that had a taste for parchment. _Pathetic. _

The tale, weak that it was, was being picked to shreds, and then those shreds ground to a dust which Severus could barely gather. Bellatrix didn't help, adding lies upon lies as she got more excited.

_He stroked the boy's hair…_

_He told me to stay away or he would call Dumbledore…_

_He called you by your name…_

Severus lay on the floor in Malfoy Manor, gazing up at the overly-elaborate ceiling with its sickening chandeliers. Paintings glared from the walls. Unforgivingly huge. Snape was almost glad that his blood stained the green rug.

All for Potter. The boy had been dragged to another room a while ago (Snape had not been checking the time for obvious reasons), slumped between two Death Eaters like a rag doll, head silently bobbing to the beat of an occasional groan. A soft thud of the door and Severus and Potter were separated. Potter may have a fighting spirit, but spirits needed energy.

Around Snape was a prison of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord paced in it, revelling in the power Snape lacked, listing so many holes in Snape's stories that stitching it back together made Severus dizzy.

Snape's mouth filled with blood and he swallowed. "I had to keep up appearances in front of Potter."

"Lies!" screamed Bellatrix, the only bright-lipped figure within the subdued circle of Death Eaters, stepping forward slightly once more, her love for the Dark Lord apparently over-taking any concern for her own well-being

The Dark Lord's gaze moved from Bellatrix to Severus, eyebrows raised in question.

"_Bellatrix_, I have explained my reasoning for lifting Potter outside Arabella Figg's house," said Snape, in as calm a voice as he could manage, but as he shook his head he thought he might black out again.. "However foolish it was -as my Lord has reminded me - it was in what I thought were my Lord's interests. Don't you remember our conversation at Spinner's end?"

Bellatrix, apparently, _still _had no understanding of self-preservation, broke forward once more.

"Don't patronise me! Of course I do. But my Lord, he dodged questions, made-up answers… If he had his own way, he would have lifted Potter and apparated him to the Order! Snape has fooled you!"

The Dark Lord snarled. "Do you doubt my judgement?"

"N-no, of course not, my Lord. I would never-"

"_Enough_, Bellatrix," said the Dark Lord. Though whispered, it was as domineering as a shout.

Severus could tell from the Dark Lord's narrowed eyes locked onto Bellatrix's wide ones that he was in her mind. Of course, showing her visions of her childhood, those wounds and crazes that lead to joining him - the best torture _was _personalised. And Bellatrix's was particularly colourful, with days which made her freeze like a bolt of lightning. So much raw power.

When the Dark Lord broke the connection, Bellatrix screamed, so loud and sudden that it was like a sneeze that had been held back and then finally broken free – for there was no breath to make noise. The only way to escape your mind is death. Clever, simple, ruthless.

The Dark Lord looked at her a little longer, before turning back to Snape, who took his cue to speak. Though he wished he was at a more powerful vantage point, the Dark Lord's anger at such an autonomous action (more than his own shaky legs) halted that idea and he stuck to the floor.

"_If _I had my way, my Lord" said Snape quietly, awkwardly tilting his head to the Dark Lord. "Potter would been killed long ago. The fiasco at the Ministry would never have happened."

Nothing, not even torture, could take away from the enjoyment of tormenting Bellatrix and Lucius.

"You are correct…" said the Dark Lord, each word carrying the weight of a potential killing curse, "about the Ministry, but my thoughts are centred on you now. Are you the same little boy I saved from his cruel father? The one who became so loyal."

Legilimency had told the Dark Lord the crevasses of Severus's heart. The Dark Lord filled them - not with human flesh, but a cruel, unchangeable metal. So simple, so easy it had been. Just take Severus in his arms, fold him into his cloak tight and give him the first hug he had ever received, tell him that with his new family Severus could bear to look in the mirror without feeling sick, could trust someone to care for him, and not let his very being be ripped apart (for could it tear any more?) but actually welded together into a new man.

Whatever indignity the Dark Lord forced Severus to suffer, whatever deep – painfully secret, shameful – part of his mind he penetrated, Lily's place was kept safe, protected by some force of Snape's that he didn't understand but embraced. Never did the Dark Lord see the woman Severus loved - for fear she would be hurt for who she was, despite being the only other person who had hugged or actually cared for Severus; the hypocrisy_ had_ shifted inside him, but not enough for him to apparate away from the prison when the doors were still open.

Snape took his chance; though his tongue was leaden, his voice came out strongly enough.

"I am. I am the same boy that respects and loves you beyond all others" said Snape, choking slightly due to disgust with the words rather the blood clogging his throat. Though Severus could tell the Dark Lord thought it was the latter from the gleam in his gaze. Severus raised a steady hand to wipe some blood from his eyes as he did so, to distract himself, to make the situation even a little bit more comfortable, to convince himself as much as the Dark Lord that he had control. "But now I'm a man. And can act on it too."

"The same lying traitor, you mean, Snape!" screeched Bellatrix, from a position in the circle Snape could not see. "My Lord, Snape looked almost…_fond _of Potter! Any true Death Eater would want Potter in the centre of the circle being tortured for information _and_ the sheer pleasure of seeing him suffer!"

"Then he shall be," said the Dark Lord. "And we shall see if Severus enjoys it."

It was so quick, so unexpected, that Severus almost let out a noise - but his mind was too well-trained, too fearful, too interested in its own survival to do so. Potter was brought in from a door to the side, by the same two Death Eaters; the Dark Lord must have planned the conversation to be steered toward this even though it felt like it had been Severus's doing.

From Severus's position on the floor, he could only crane his neck, with no energy to lift it off the ground. He could, however, see the reactions of the other Death Eaters. Even in the Dark Lord's presence, emotions slip through. Wide eyes, slightly open mouths and the murmur of confusion…Potter was in an even worse way than before.

The circle broke, boots shifted out of the way to allow space for beaten and muddy muggle trainers, which were larger than the feet they held and lifted off the floor slightly as if they could not support their own weight. And then, dropped, thudding to the floor: then knees, then hands too. The enemy of the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter was lying on the floor next to him, those ridiculous glasses gone, eyes screwed shut. Stinking of sweat, of the outdoors, mud and rain. The green rug, hard underneath them both, was stained with Potter's blood as well as Snape's now.

"Prove you are still mine, Severus."

It was all moving too fast. Though what amount of time could doing as the Dark Lord asked tolerable?

Severus pushed but his elbows buckled beneath him, his own weight so excruciating he had to bite down on his lip to stop crying out. The third time he tried, he got up, the world tilting, blurring and never quite settling - but there. And he felt more powerful. No Death Eater was taller than Severus, the Dark Lord himself an inch shorter and, though height was hardly synonymous to power, symbols mattered.

The boy was below him now, still sprawled on the ground. It was hard to believe it was Harry Potter. His raised head showed his bruised, bloody face to everyone. In layers. What had happened before the Death Eaters got to him?

"Potter…You have the eyes of the snake," said Snape quietly. "You may be able to wriggle out of punishment at school Potter, but _here _there is nowhere for you to go. No Headmaster to slither to…."

Severus's reference to Potter's visions – the _snake –_ was met with an oblivious, open gaze_. _His clue to _occlude_, forget his anger and mould that unfathomably brick-like mind into something with power was ignored. Snape hadn't raised his hopes around Potter's subtlety and understanding. Though the Dark Lord wasn't going to Legilimise Potter now - given the pain he had experienced at the Ministry – torture was only survivable with some control over your mind. Mental prowess can dodge any punch physicality can throw.

"Snake, indeed," said the Dark Lord, walking forward to stand by Potter's head, hem of his robe actually resting on Potter's black hair until Potter flinched it away. "He is perhaps more Slytherin than we gave him credit for, Severus."

Ah. So the Dark Lord had taken _that _meaning from Snape's comment. But, surely, such a complete Slytherin as he wouldn't consider...

"What do you mean, my Lord?" asked Severus, barely able to stand.

"His relatives left us so little to work with."

Snape thought back to Potter, small and skinny. To Potter, climbing up a tree chased by a dog. To Potter, jealous of his cousin's bicycle.

"Surely it was simply Potter partaking in uncivilised muggle fights?"

To Potter lying on Arabella Figg's porch, no muggle in sight, bloody and bruised.

To Petunia, hating magic.

To Lily.

"I would have thought the signs would have been obvious to _you_, Severus."

Potter, in front of him now, eyes still on Severus's own, shaking his head almost imperceptibly: _no_, it's not muggle fights or _no_, it's not abuse? Unclear, but Potter was trying to secretly communicate something, still trusting that Severus worked for Dumbledore, even now. Latching onto Snape, like Snape had latched onto…

The Dark Lord shook his head. "Do you really believe that the blood wards would have failed after a few muggle fights, Severus?"

Snape felt an unquenchable fury, his heart rate increase and his breaths sharpen. The Dark Lord beside him was too emerged in Potter's torture to notice.

"The muggles did this?" asked Snape, eventually.

The Dark Lord looked from Potter to Snape. "So similar to you at that age, Severus."

A cracked voice then, like a whip. It echoed. "I'm nothing like Snape!"

The Dark Lord looked at Potter, in gentle, faked surprise, eyes glinting as if he had found a jewel – then crouched down so intimately that it was like only they were in the room.

"You know, Harry, that only a snake silently survives such uncouth abuse - from muggles to a wizard no less. A _lion _only roars, but you didn't. No, you coiled around it." The Dark Lord stood up. "This changes things."

The sorting hat, telling Potter he would do well in Slytherin…

Snape stared down at Potter, theroom swaying even more.

"No!" shouted Potter. "It was a muggle fight!"

A half of the Dark Lord's mouth curled, but Snape's heart was too hot for his mind to consider the odd warmth in the smile (smile?)…"Oh, I do believe _that_," said the Dark Lord.

"With boys! With Dudley!"

Potter was lying. Snape needed no dominance over the mind magics to know so: it was all over the boy's face, in his rapidly blinking eyes, in the shaking of his head, in the upper lip that quivered. So clear that it was hard to believe he had missed it.

All these years.

Surely not.

"Do not defend them," said the Dark Lord. "Do not defend what they did to a great Wizard. Your blood should never have been spilled."

Potter stood up then. Beneath him, his legs shook more than even Severus's had - but he looked the Dark Lord in the eye with an unaffected gaze.

"Don't _you _pretend you think spilling my blood is a bad thing," he said. Apparently Potter had accepted that no one believed his previous lie. Though Severus wasn't sure whether he completely disbelieved it. "Don't pretend you care."

"I do care. If it has turned you into such a delicious Slytherin."

"I am not a-"

"_Severus_."

Snape knew what he must do. Potter's conditioning was starting if owning Potter was indeed what the Dark Lord wanted. How long this new desire of the Dark Lord's would last was unpredictable but if it meant keeping Potter alive for longer, Snape would indulge. Whatever it cost him.

_"Crucio_."

Even if that meant casting of an Unforgivable on a child, his student no less.

What _was_ more unforgivable? Casting the curse or having his role as a spy destroyed? Life, essentially, or death? It was not much of a choice. It was not a choice at all. Though Severus was practical, realistic, knowing a third option was either worse or fantasy.

So Severus's let loose his hate for James, for Tobias, for everything he had ever been crushed by …Yet, the curse was still hard to cast. It was not simple pain. It was _unrelenting _pain. Even after it had ended, it lived on: in the quiet moments of everyday life, in your mind, in nightmares, forever.

Potter writhed on the floor, splitting open cuts, mouth wide, screams piercing, eyes flashing and reflecting golden chandeliers, the red of Severus's magic… Then, it stopped of its own accord. Severus lowered his wand, gaze returning to the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord was looking at Potter.

The Dark Lord gave no time for Potter to recover. "Why did the wards fail, then, if it was not the Dursleys who hurt you?"

Potter was breathing hard but Snape could not look at him in case he appeared concerned, so he watched the Dark Lord's flicking tongue instead, curling as it drew Potter in with poisonous words, though he found that that hardly helped. Potter writhed in the periphery of Severus's vision.

Potter must have shaken his head in a refusal to answer – _of _course: "Do not make me punish you again, Harry-"

"I don't know, okay!" said Potter. "But it was not them h-hitting me. They've been doing that for five years and nothing-"

Potter stopped as if he'd said too much which, Snape supposed, he had.

"I see," said the Dark Lord, after a few moments, then turned to Severus. "It is your job as spy to found out why the wards failed…The point stands though that Harry Potter can slither, for five years in fact. But I am still not sure whether I can trust_ you_, Severus. If you are mine, how did you fool Potter? I saw in his mind last year that he never suspected you." The Dark Lord turned to look down at Potter. "Do you trust him now, Harry?"

"Any self-respecting human being wouldn't cast a Cruciatus," said Potter, words as certain as anything could be from his crushed position on the floor.

"I'll take that as a negative" said the Dark Lord, and looked back at Snape.

"My Lord, time and time again, _Snape_ has put himself in doubt," said Bellatrix, her speech running over itself in panic.

Bellatrix had stepped further into the middle of the circle again– so it was she, Potter, the Dark Lord and Snape in centre, playing some ridiculously complex game of lies and accusations, layer on layer. Every person thought he knew it all. Apart from, perhaps, Potter.

"I suggest that we don't go around in circles and repeat conversations. Rather dull for all of us. I'm happy to answer your questions, but do not waste my time," said Severus, showing the first hint of impatience since the conversation had begun. It felt good to hunt, rather than be hunted; it felt good to take his frustrations out on Bellatrix; it felt good to no longer look at Potter. "Regardless of whether he does now, the Dark Lord is the greatest Legilimens the world has ever seen and has not suspected me after all these years of invading my mind, questioning me, probing me…So why should you do so?"

Snape's mouth curled into mocking smile of pride and smugness, which he did not really feel. He was exhausted from the constant _Cruciatus _he had endured before Potter had been brought in and the pressure – more than ever – of what catastrophe a slip of the tongue might bring. And tongues were so slippery. Even Snape's. The Dark Lord's questions were always hard but now his suspicions were solely on Severus and the weight of his immense power was crushing.

The Dark Lord was strangely silent, regarding Severus and occasionally Bellatrix, then, lightly fingering his wand. He stepped so close that Severus could feel the heat of his flesh and blood. Flesh and blood. That was, perhaps, what kept Severus going through the edges of his mind being penetrated once more. Severus showed the Dark Lord the true memory of him lifting Potter, but instead of feelings of love for Lily, he filled it with feelings of hate for James. A lie built on truth is the strongest lie of all.

Snape was glad now for Bellatrix's impulsive behaviour, her lie about Severus touching Potter's hair; it incriminated her. The Dark Lord believed _him_.

The Dark Lord withdrew from Severus's mind; there was a moment before he spoke.

"How I enjoy seeing my children fight," said the Dark Lord softly. "It shows how much they love me... And though I love them too, a good father does not shy from punishment." The Dark Lord flicked his wand. "_Crucio_."

With him, Bellatrix writhed on the floor – and it was that which made the twenty third cruciatus that night survivable. Almost worth it – if it were not for Potter's eyes on his own and Snape found he was not closing his eyes either, though they should be screwed up in pain. If he could speak now, what would he say?

Through the last throbs of pain, the Dark Lord spoke.

"As the only one with medical training, Severus, take care for the boy- so I can charm the snake to speak."

The art of caring for others was not in the interests of a Death Eater. It had not been in Severus's interests, either - but he had had reason to care for his own injuries from a young age.

"You are mine Severus, I know it. Yes, I see you are still that loyal little boy. Now make Harry Potter functional."


	3. most potent of potions

It was not over.

Bellatrix had been quelled, but she would be back.

Like a Niffler, she won't stop until she finds gold. And she will find it.

Severus would seek Dumbledore at the first opportunity – but opportunities to escape the Dark Lord when you were needed were few/non-existent. Not that he could leave Potter either. Not now.

Severus carried Potter through the corridors of Malfoy Manor to his room, expecting to run into Draco any moment, though he knew that the boy was at his Great Aunt's, head no doubt being filled with more lies. It would burst if this continued.

Potter drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently. Physical injury atop of magical was particularly draining - but Severus felt weak too, stumbling up stairs occasionally.

"No, no, no…" Potter kept saying, gaze as shaky as his voice.

Potter's room had one bed, Severus was glad to see; it meant that Snape was not a prisoner here. He was free to go to Dumbledore. Somehow he had survived the Dark Lord's doubts once again. Snape carried Potter to the bed and lay him gently atop it. A few spells later and Snape was satisfied that there were no surveillance charms on the room; it was a guest room after all, not a cell.

Potter's eyes found Snape's own, clearer and voice slightly steadier.

"You're really his?" Then Potter's gaze slipped to the side again and Snape could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Fever. "Confusin'."

Potter was lolling on his side on the bed, apparently oblivious to the blood dripping from the nasty head wound above his ear, matting his hair and staining the white sheets. Snape walked over, held the tip of his wand to the inflamed lips of the injury, murmured the spells he had murmured too many times. The blood vanished, the injury closed and all that was left was a thin line that Severus would soon make disappear. Not that he cared about aesthetics but, perhaps, Potter of all people didn't need another scar.

"You must be more specific, given Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are both male…" said Severus, once he had finished. "To a degree anyway."

Snape turned in an alarm as he heard a strange noise issue from Potter – who was almost falling off the bed with rasping laughter."Imagine Dumbledore as a- as a- girl! Lipstick! Oh Merlin! Imagine Volde-"

"Not _here _you imbecile. Not his name. Do you have a suicide wish?"

Apparently Potter did, for he continued, flopping back on the bed, spread-eagled, staring at the ceiling. "Imagine Voldemort with a pink dress! It would clash with green! Oh MERLIN!"

"Potter!"

Snape's voice was sharp in the strain of keeping up with Potter's mood swings: Potter tipped his head back laughter- then, before Snape could react to the glee, frowned at Snape as if concerned for his sanity.

"Do you_ really_ think they're girls?" asked Potter, squinting at Snape through bruises and blood.

"No! I merely meant-"

Snape stopped himself; he had been going to finish the sentence with 'that the Dark lord has left the human realm to such a degree that gender hardly applies to him' - but he hardly thought that was something that the Dark Lord would appreciate, in search of a better term….

Potter may still let something Snape had said in private slip through his Gryffindor tongue. The best compromise would be to act as the Dark Lord expected in front of Potter: Dumbledore's man - but not to the degree that he was disrespectful, which no true follower would dare to be. Even if that meant Snape would have to put Potter in doubts about his true allegiance…there was no love lost there.

Snape stilled. But _there was_. Love was obviously the wrong word, but there was an inkling of respect from Potter to Snape. The Dark Lord had said it:_ I saw in his mind last year that he never suspected you_...

No time to get lost in happy memories, Snape walked to the cupboards, looking for the potions the Dark Lord had no doubt left here. The first drawer revealed photographs, captured seconds of the Malfoy life: Draco laughing, a small child with disproportionately large cheeks at the time, dressed in black like his father and sitting on the floor like he was just about to topple over, a herd of toy Hippogriffs galloping in circles around him.

A cough from Potter as he attempted to speak. "Are you really Dumbledore's though?"

"Yes"

"But…Why should I trust you?" Potter asked lightly, as if he were asking about the weather.

The next drawer was filled only with blank notebooks, green and silver, the kind that other Wizards would treasure as uniquely beautiful but the Malfoys had in excess.

"That hardly matters right now. The Dark Lord has instructed me to heal you - a task that I would also be completing if I were Dumbledore's. Take advantage of the Dark Lord's wishes coinciding with your own."

"They don't though. Never. Never. Never."

"It's good you said that three times or I wouldn't have believed you." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course they do Potter! You are not so pure and nor is the Dark Lord so evil that your desires never overlap. You both breathe, do you not? You are both…"

Snape was going to say _human_, but reasoned that the Dark Lord may take offence to even that.

"…Wizards!"

Potter wasn't listening anyway.

"Look it's not my fault that Dobby stole that gillyweed, Professor. You kinda should stop jumping to conclusions. I could, I dunno…" a snort "make your hair nice – ha, bet you've never had that before" then the tone turned quiet "and you _still _wouldn't like me. Tried it with Vernon too…put cakes on his head, you know? Put them in his mouth - made cakes and cakes and cakes and he still didn't like me. Sugar all over, smelt so good. Couldn't taste it though, but could imagine. You and Uncle would get on! Yeah you should make a team with Uncle Vernon - compete in the triwizard tournament or something?"

What a remarkable speech. It would have been less fantastical if Potter somersaulted, then announced his attention to join the Internation Wizards' Gynmastic team….

Potter was already on another topic though, however much Snape's mind lingered on the words _you should make a team with Uncle Vernon_.

"Why does everything look blurry?"

"You don't have your glasses."

Potter's soft voice from the corner jumped easily from one idea to another. "Sir, you should really get another job. Something less dangerous. Waiter or summin'…"

Then Potter's mouth twitched, no doubt imagining Snape in an apron with a tray. Snape turned back to searching the drawers to hide his smirk.

"And what would happen to you if I did that?" asked Snape. "I hardly think waiting skills would help."

Potter snorted in his delirium. "I might make you able to carry me without tripping."

"You've hit your head hard if you think I won't punish you for that comment once we get back to Hogwarts."

"Head!" announced Potter triumphantly, still lying back on the bed, as if his body was controlling him when it should be the other way around "Does the Headmaster know we're here?"

"I will notify him as soon as possible."

"And where even are we? This isn't Mrs. Figg's house is it? Wow, she got rich. Didn't realise! Nice that she doesn't show it on the outside of her house. Where are the cats?"

Snape had no idea what to say that, so settled for ignoring him, a tactic he enjoyed.

"Where are they?" insisted Potter. "I don't think you understand. She'll be _really _worried if the cats are gone. She saved me from the Dementors, so I owe her, I need to find…I need to…_ Here_ kitty kitty." Snape turned to see Potter leaning dangerously over the side of the bed. "I think one's called Snuffles…or is that-"

Snape grabbed Potter by his arm and steered him back onto the pillows.

"You are feverish, foolish boy."

"_Yeah,_ fine but if Mrs. Figg doesn't find her cats then Dementors will come."

The mind has a tendency to break after the stress is over rather than during; it's a survival mechanism to hold back dangerous symptoms until safety – to the best of its ability. Magic must help this for Severus had never met a muggle who could do it quite as well as a Wizard – and apparently Potter had delayed a lot of symptoms.

"Look!" Potter was pointing to the corner of the room. "A saucer! Cats are sometimes in plates, did you know that?"

Snape followed Potter's gaze to the window sill, to see a decorative white plate sitting there. There was no doubt that the boy was thinking of Umbridge and her strange, vile obsession. Severus had had no patience for cats since.

Turning back, Severus began searching again for the right drawer, finding himself in the familiar position of being more concerned about Potter's health than Potter was.

"Fascinating as that is, you are beginning to sound like Lockhart. _After _that unfortunate spell. And this room is larger than Arabella Figg's whole house. We cannot possibly be in her abode."

"Like a TARDIS…" said Potter, mouth open in apparent awe, eyes flashing to Snape again.

That was it, the boy was turning mad.

"We. Are. Not. In. Her. House!" said Snape, whirling to face Potter in a magnificent sweep of robes, that he had so perfected into scaring idiot students into getting vaguely passable grades; Potter didn't even seem to notice.

"Then where we are?" Potter asked in an innocent tone.

Snape turned back to the drawers, in defeat. "Oh, Merlin spare me… Potter, I need to heal you before you become more feverish, if that is even possible. Your incessant ramblings aren't helping for some reason."

"No…they're not incessant! I'm telling the truth! Maybe I should ignore the toad altogether. But she is so annoying! He's back and she just won't believe it! Writing 'I must not tell lies' on my hand seems a fairly pointless exercise."

Snape felt as if he were trespassing, learning thing Potter would be furious to know he had found out, things that Snape would have kept to himself at that age, for shame. Yet, the fury he was feeling, brewing inside him, most potent of potions, whiffed to his mind, ensnaring it, so he had no choice but to respond.

"She. Did. What?"

Potter didn't even hear him. "Here kitty, kitty."

Snape turned back, knowing there was no point pressing now – but he would have to at some point, would have no choice but to find out more, if they got out of this mess. Severus did not like unanswered questions, especially ones that involved Potter.

Then, Potter stopped calling for that blasted cat and started talking again in a language familiar to humans.

"Ohhhh! I geddit…"

Though Severus wasn't sure 'geddit' should qualify as English.

"_Still _though, Dudley's room has always been nicer than mine but this is insane! I s'pose Dudley felt sorry for me," continued Potter, muttering under his breath as if talking to himself. Though he did try to give me that hardened bread in my cupboard. Ha. Dudley can't even make toast…So he put me in his bed, that's nice."

And which wound would Severus press for information first? There were so many. Focus on one and the others would bleed out.

"Wait, would about if Marietta tells Umbridge again? 'Cause Umbridge would probably put me back in my cupboard."

"Ah!"

Determined not to listen to ramblings that could include both truth and fiction, were so muddled that any anger Severus might feel from them could be unwarranted, Severus had focused on searching and finally found the drawer with the potions in: bottle upon bottle. Everyone had a wand, but Severus had this extra edge: potions were far more secretive and subtle than the rash, fumbling spell, loud, roaring and obvious.

Severus selected the Sleeping Draught, and Dreamless Sleep for good measure, pyjamas from a drawer and stalked over to Potter's bed.

"Drink these then change into your pyjamas," said Severus, handing Potter the vials "Green one first."

Potter looked up at Snape again, expression crumpled into childish despair. "I don't want to drink pond water again, Dudley."

Snape stilled, completely. "It's not pond water."

Snape felt almost helpless at their quiet exchange, so few words, but with more significance than any of their past conversations.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I really don't wanna…"

"It will help you sleep."

"But-"

"Trust me."

"No."

Snape no longer knew who Potter thought he was talking to, but it didn't matter; Potter did not trust him, and that wasn't going to change quickly. And yet, they had to either work together to get out of here or die together. Snape let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"I could spell the potions into your stomach myself, which I would hope you would have learnt in potions by now." Severus took another breath. "The only reason I won't is because I fear that it would result in you trusting me less. _That _is how important your trust is." Potter said nothing. "What can I do to convince you?"

Snape reached for the vials in Potter's hands then, for so many reasons: to take them out of Potter's shaking grip in case he spilt them, to make sure Potter was ready to take them of his own admission, to make sure he didn't feel pressure.

Potter flinched violently. The potions spilt everywhere. Potter cowered, vials discarded, eyes glinting with fever.

Snape caught Potter's wrist before he could even think about it.

Potter took slower breaths, but still eyed Snape as if he might attack. "My wrist-"

Snape loosened his grip. "I'll-"

"No," said Potter, eyes blinking heavy. "I like it. It's warm. Outside Mrs. Figg's house, when the footsteps came towards me, someone did that. I dunno…nice."

Potter's bottom lip trembled slightly, but his gaze stayed hard on Severus's own.

"Potter?"

"I'll take the potions."

There was a moment, where Severus's fingers stayed in limbo around Potter's, before he let go. Potter must have been remembering _Severus_ holding his wrist – and Bellatrix must have been the footsteps Potter was describing. _Snape's _hand had calmed Potter. Snape's unique touch on Potter's unique wrist. How a combination like that had worked, Severus didn't think he'd ever know. But not one to miss opportunities, whatever the state of his mind, Severus turned to fetch the vials.

When he returned, though, Potter was asleep, slumped back on the pillow, mouth open and rendering the potions pointless. Snape counted _four _potions wasted because of Potter already. The cold vials were banished from his hands then, and replaced by Potters' warm, bony wrist.


	4. Functional

_Functional_, the Dark Lord had said.

Snape almost didn't want to patch him up and was tempted to just leave Potter in the soft world that the mouth sometimes even smiled at. Wouldn't that be kinder? If Potter smiled, perhaps Snape could allow himself some happiness too. Yet Snape did, though it felt fruitless and pointless, it busied his hands and kept his mind on edge, so it was less likely to wallow, and kept that silly little hope of escape ticking over.

Rolling his sleeves up, Severus set to work on healing through the night, the lack of sleep occasionally making him dizzy, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced before. Nothing that mattered.

Snape needed a plan. Most of all, he needed Harry Potter to be Harry Potter once again. What a hinge Potter had become in his plans, thoughts, life. Bad enough before but now he had to work _with _the boy. All of it rested on a blundering Gryffindor with such an inability to lie that it made truth serum needless.

It was then that Snape's gaze was drawn again by fascination, emotions that would not go away, the steady beat of revelation, to Potter's injuries and rethought the assumption that Potter could not lie.

Working on such an abused body seemed an unsurmountable task, though Snape would never know if that were true unless he tried. Snape would nurse Potter through every second, every up and down, every struggle to breathe, every scream of pain and every respite, however brief. It was Snape's life's most important duty, _to keep the Potter boy safe_, and any of its callings would surpass his other two masters', the Dark Lord's and Dumbledore's. He was just lucky that it was their aims too. Though it was tempting, an easy option, a delicious thought, to just sit in the corner, he could not.

The boy's clothes were filthy, too large, hanging off him like weights; Severus removed them grimly. Were they a sign of Potter's self-consciousness? Surely not, he never wore them at school or seemed ashamed of his physique. Was he, then, force to aware such attire? There could no good reasons for such large garments – but there were bearable ones, such as the possibility that it was Potter's way to disrespect his muggle family.

Snape would have spelled the pyjamas on Potter if it weren't for the fact that the vast majority of the injuries were hidden under clothes. Some awful secret. Severus removed all Potter's clothes, excluding his boxers - Snape could not bring himself to consider that there would be a need to remove them. Though he knew, back at Hogwarts, he would have to check. Vocally.

Gentle, taking Potter's wrist whenever he started, whenever the pain of the bruises became too much, Severus worked while Potter drifted in and out of consciousness. Potter's ribs were particularly tricky, but he managed; Snape thanked luck that they had not punctured any organs. Though it would have been luckier that Potter had not broken ribs at all.

It was like some horrifying nightmare. Bruise, welts and cuts were more common than plain skin. Severus spent enough time on each injury – applying salve, healing damaged tissue, whispering healing spells… - to unwillingly concoct stories: shoved down the stairs? Whacked around the face? Uncouthly punched? On such a thin body, most to harbour such pain and come to school every day, plus such a burden, such responsibility, such expectation, at the same time as carrying on a psychologically normal life, of friends, of love and laughter.

This, of course, was the result of the Dursleys. Of Potter's Uncle's unimaginable and non-understandable rage. The fact that Potter had been so hurt, abused, was at odds to everything Snape had ever known and taken for true. Arrogant. Spoiled. Just like his father.

How long had this been going on, this abuse? This summer, certainly - but the, the older bruises, the minor bones that had been broken for years, all told the undeniable fact that it had been going on much longer than that. Then he had endured without a single complaint or sign to anyone – both Granger and Weasley would have surely reported it. Potter – weak? There was greater strength here than Severus could have guessed.

Then the fever had peaked, the morning after working all night - as pink flooded the room, Potter had screamed out.

"No! Uncle! Please!"

And all Severus's reservations, hopes that it wasn't true, had been pierced. Deflated. Burst.

Leaning over the boy, his hand caught Potter's wrist like Potter's so often caught the snitch. Potter's eyes had stayed closed, but the screams had stopped. Sleep had come and the fever had abated.

The Dark Lord entered that morning, robes cool in the morning light, appraising Severus's work with an emotionless eye, the asleep Boy-Who-Lived. Severus stood in the corner reciting all the reasons that Harry Potter was not the boy Snape had thought he was before being asked. How could this been the work of a simple street fight?

"He is still not healed completely. A skull fracture, my Lord. No brain damage as far as I can tell. Though he was feverish last night, it has since passed. Many abrasions and welts, mainly superficial but they will scar. A broken finger. A broken toe. Two broken ribs. All of which I have yet still to work on. He is not yet functional."

He spoke not as himself, like an outer body experience.

"How long do you need before we start, Severus? We cannot work with a damaged boy."

The Dark Lord's eyes were still on Potter, not like they were considering an enemy, but a weapon.

"Start what, my Lord?"

"I am surprised you had not gathered my plans, Severus. Sharp as you are…"

Severus _had_ gathered, but he'd hoped his pessimistic mind had jumped to conclusions, that the Dark Lord would not have abandoned all past aims for this insane plan which was more terrifying than any before it

"Or perhaps you are just scared…"

Perhaps so.

"I will find the crevasses…"

If what Severus was seeing was true, Potter had many of those.

"Break them apart to fill them with truth…"

Surely, surely the Boy-Who-Lived was not the next target of the Dark Lord's worst will, to recruit him. The Dark Lord intended to break Harry Potter. Then build him back up…

"If that involves torture, Severus, It will."

It could not be done surely, surely it could not be done.

"If that involved breaking every bone in his body and worse, it will be done. If that involves destroying his very self, it will be done…."

Harry Potter must be unbreakable…. But Severus knew that was just _The Prophet_ talking. No one was unbreakable.

"And you will help me."

"Harry Potter will not break the usual way, through physical pain. He will break through mental torture. There is a certain spell I created, just for such a task. Now, I can finally use its great power. And you will help me…"

Severus found he could say nothing, too scared his voice would betray his panic, so he just watched as the Dark Lord's fingers lingered on Potter's scar before brushing the black hair aside and bringing his arms back to himself, looking for the first time at Snape. The Dark Lord's gaze lingered there, looking for something though Severus wasn't sure what it was. Apparently, though, Severus provided it. The Dark Lord spoke again.

"You must open his mind for me. I myself cannot touch it. Once his mind is revealed, his thoughts mine to mould and his soul available…only then can I cast my curse. It's in his best interests." The Dark Lord tilted his head, watching Severus like the precious jewel he had become: polished until his function was beyond that of a spy. He would the Dark Lord torture Potter. He gave the Dark Lord the power to win "That oblivious, old man. Thinking you are his, Severus."

It was his name, perhaps, that made Severus's voice come through or, more likely, his survival instincts. "I will need a fortnight at the very least to heal him."

"A fortnight… Surely not."

It had been his last hope, and that hope was to be quashed.

"You have a week - or you will…suffer."

The final word lingered, as if the Dark Lord were savouring it. Severus simply nodded, knowing no argument would make a difference. But he could not sit idle, whether it meant he was revealed as spy or not, for a fear had gripped him.

"My will is yours, my Lord. I must ask your permission, though, to go back to Dumbledore. He will become suspicious. I am meant to…" A lie, a lie fast… "I have missed many Order meetings this summer." The Dark Lord took a deep breath, but Snape spoke too quickly. "Perhaps I can persuade him not to check on the Potter boy this summer? I suspect he was planning to."

The Dark Lord exhaled. "That would be…most wise. Do so. However, only once the boy is healed. You will do my work first…"

With one last gaze, the Dark Lord left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Severus to run to it, all cool flung aside. When he shook it, it was locked. Severus turned to Potter in an unfamiliar panic, staring, hands clenching and unclenching, his body rebelling against him like it never did. Green horror, like those eyes, like that killing curse. The boy was still. White.

A week, or what? The Dark Lord had no qualms in being creative.

Even if Severus succeeded, and brought Potter to the Dark Lord, _functioning _as he so wished, what would the consequences be?

Was the battle lost, Potter truly defeated or was it just the start of another battle?

Severus slid down the door and stared at his shoes, clutching his wand. For the next few hours, despite the time pressure, he did not move while Potter lay in the bed. If only the boy would shout. Rage against his hated Professor, his lot in life, the Dark Lord himself. Show some arrogance. But he only groaned pathetically in discomfort, with no energy or power to fight. For now, Severus would have to fight for them both.

For the second time since this chaos had started, Severus had done the wrong thing, under the pressure he had failed. Though the Dark Lord didn't suspect Snape's betrayal – or Snape would be dead - he still had seen Snape's hesitation upon hearing the news that the Dark Lord was planning to recruit Harry Potter. Perhaps the Dark Lord put it down to Snape's hatred of Potter.

It didn't matter. It could have killed them both. Snape never let doubts slip, never let his true feelings show, yet he had today. The normal never applied to Potter. Why did the boy have this power over him? That made Severus want to protect him and continually fail to do just that.

Severus slowly stood up and set to work once again, heavy with sleepiness but light with adrenaline and will.

The Dark Lord had provided countless potions. When Severus slept, he woke within an hour; nerves startling his body at every sound. And Potter was making many…Death Eaters came to check on them once every few hours since the Dark Lord's last visit. The individual varied, but individuality was not a usual Death Eater trait - and the ones sent to check on Severus were so lowly that they had no sense of self at all; they didn't even think to taunt Severus who was in the humiliating position of being locked in with the Boy Who Lived. Lucius or Bellatrix would have done so him at any chance – especially Bellatrix, also fuelled by her rage that Snape had escaped the majority of the Dark Lord's wrath once again.

It was an odd thing that Severus respected Death Eaters like Bellatrix and Lucius more than those who had no personality. At least Bellatrix contradicted the Dark Lord occasionally, however mislead, twisted and selfish her reasons were. Lucius did more subtlely – though since the Ministry debacle (a chaotic evening for both sides of the war) had been more subdued for obvious reasons. The Death Eaters who said nothing, who had no view apart from the Dark Lord's, rats like Peter Pettigrew, were the real dangers of the war.

Snape was as much a prisoner in the room as Potter, getting food occasionally but not often enough - like one would chuck a dog a bone. Nothing could be given to Potter until he was awake, though Snape longed to drip some soup onto the boy's tongue.

To be locked in with a boy's injuries, have time to learn them off by heart and no way to deny their existence, wallow with potions which always stunk of his dreaded task; to be alone with a mute boy, whose made no movements to hide his injuries and had no knowledge to blush, no humour to calm Severus, who stared at Severus with unforgiving eyes; to be with Lily's son who was hurt… was worse than being with the Dark Lord

By the fifth day of the week, the room was heavy in their smells and habits. Severus's blanket that he slept on was folded in the corner. Potter's only possessions, the clothes he came in, were heavy with sweat and discarded in the other corner. Ointments and potions, bottles scattered, labels fallen to the floor in a flurry. Ripped sheets. A smashed decorative plate which Severus had yet to banish – the uncontrollable arms of a child in a nightmare. Around Potter's wrist was the rag that Severus had ripped from his own cloak for Potter to fiddle with instead of scratching his own welts. A bloody tissue from when Severus banged his head from a Cruciatus curse after the Dark Lord's second visit to find Potter not better, but worse. In the air were the tingles of nightmares that had not left, curses that continued to persist.

There were two glasses, half-full with forgotten water: Potter had cried out, some injury searing a few hours ago, and their drinks had been left, though Severus had been the one holding Potter's drink to his lips anyway.

And now, Snape sat in the one chair in the room next to Potter's bedside, wondering what an earth to do next, at a loss, though felt everything _had _been lost and everything that could have been gained, was gone. Though Snape must remember, must assume, that Potter still had friends and hope to fight for, even if Snape did not.

There was one day left.

The broken bones were the trickiest without Skele-gro. It took complex, detailed magic; furrowing concentration, Severus holding his wand many hours at a time. But it was painless for Potter – pain, in such a state, might lead Potter to lash out in such a disorientated state, setting them back days instead of merely hours.

Then, towards the end of the last day, Potter's eyes opened. The voice came almost straight way.

"Snape."

To the point at least.

Potter was lucid, then.

The word was raw, more than a statement of fact; some accusation hid in there too, Snape thought, which he was weary of.

"Potter, take this – Oh, for Merlin's sake."

When Harry made no effort to take the glass, Snape put his hand behind Harry's head and held the glass to his lips, spilling it slightly on the sheets, but still giving Harry a relief that he had forgotten existed as he drank. When the glass had all gone, Snape repeated the process until Harry stopped trying to swallow and simply lay there, staring at Severus, blinking slowly like he had forgotten what seeing was like. He probably had. Snape banished the glass.

"Welcome back, Potter," said Snape. "The world has much changed since you saw me last. We have much to discuss - starting with we have an hour and a half until the Dark Lord comes to recruit you."


	5. Now, to plan

"Unlike you," continued Snape. "I have been lucid enough over the last two days to be able to think." Potter opened his mouth to argue, but Snape raised a finger. "I have come to realise that the only way to survive, return to Hogwarts and hate each other once again - a state which we both obviously crave - is to suffer by working together now. So, for the long term goal of hate, let's be pleasant to each other."

"Ugh, wait. Just getting my bearings…"

Severus leant forward in his chair. "We are not on a ship, Potter..."

It was terror that was leading Severus to speak this way, he knew; terror or hurt often showed themselves through secondary emotions – like anger.

"The Dark Lord will not wait for you to get your _bearings_."

"Yeah, but_ you_ will," said Potter, rubbing his head before sitting up, hair even messier than usual, blinking round the room, gaze not quite landing on Snape. "Still though, glasses would be useful, though even without them I can see I'm in a pompous place…Gross."

Snape waved his wand.

"Ah, thanks!" said Potter, smiling, looking around the room before his gaze finally settled on Severus. "Why did no one do this to me before?"

"The charm only lasts a week and, beyond that, acts like a potion meaning multiple doses will only make you less susceptible - until it doesn't work it all. Potter, we must plan."

"_Bearings_," repeated Potter. "I still don't have them."

It was more of a plea for help than a definite statement.

"I will give you the fact that you are no longer curled on Arabella Figg's front porch."

Potter blinked, screwed up his eyes. Severus couldn't tell if to quash feelings or to remember.

"You found me there?" said Potter eventually, lips barely moving as if he were forcing the words out.

"Quite. As did the Dark Lord, Potter. Was Arabella's porch such a seductive location that it was worth risking your life, the Order, _everythi_ng we've worked for?"

"I had no choice!"

"Enough!" cut in Severus.. There was no time. Potter could no longer flirt with danger. "There is no time for catch up. You will make your trembling excuses to Dumbledore _if _we get out of this mess that _you've_ made."

"Er, right," said Potter. "So we're imprisoned here, I guess?"

Snape gave no answer but an imperceptible flinch. Potter's gaze fell on the body beneath him; his own body, that must feel so different to what it had for days, look so different. Potter had most likely forgotten was painlessness felt like.

"Merlin."

"This is not the time."

"Merlin," said Potter again, even more softly, when he saw the fading bruises.

Potter looked up, met Severus's eyes. He opened his mouth but no word came.

"Potter…" said Severus, trying to fill the silence, but was stopped.

"It was muggle boys."

"Of course," Snape found himself saying, his tone even more dangerous than before. "Muggle boys with belt buckles for hands."

Potter flushed, looking down at his hands. "The bruises just look that because…"

"Do not lie to me. Not about this."

Potter's eyes glinted. Tears of surprise or fear or disbelief? "I'm beginning to hope this is a nightmare."

"I'm afraid not."

Severus glanced away as Potter stared down at his body again, the healing bruises and cuts, , the beginnings of scars, the nakedness. He wriggled under the duvet, self-conscious.

"I…" Snape knew that they should be talking about plotting against the Dark Lord, but carried on anyway, voice so gentle it surprised even himself. "I could not prevent some scarring."

Potter did not look up when he nodded again. "That's okay," he said. "Better than everything scarring."

Snape wanted to apologise, but it stuck in his throat – a physical barrier rather than a mental one, so he ran his tongue over his teeth, for something to do, a nervous habit …Unable to stop seeing and remembering Potter's scars as if her were in a Penseive. Scars so old that they could only have been formed before Potter was ten…Yes, Potter was used to scars.

All of them spoke of Potter's fate: from the faint silver lines of his past which had carved the beginnings of obedience, redrawn summer after summer redrawn: _tell no one_, this was the way life was and you do nothing about it; to the ones that Severus had just healed, the present, which continued to be inflamed, solidify Potter's belief that anyone knowing was a bad idea, least of all Severus Snape; to, finally, no more affecting in Potter's life than the others, the lightning bolt on his forehead which sealed Potter's future in a jagged line.

Severus watched Potter a moment longer, concluding from the eyes still resting on his lap and the increasingly shallow breaths, that immediately before potential torture wasn't the ideal time for a discussion about his abusive relatives. Before he could say anything, however, Potter rubbed his arm, nervously, as if he were about to say something important. Severus stilled himself, watching as Potter eventually sought his gaze, hand still trailing up and down his arm.

"Look, sir, I get that these circumstances are…different but if, when, we get to Hogwarts, can you not tell anyone about the, er, Dursleys?"

For a moment, Severus could only breathe. And then: "Merlin, you foolish boy." Potter continued to look at him, obviously waiting for an answer that had no room for confusion. "I won't tell anyone, without asking you first."

Potter smiled, but it wasn't happiness but like he was encouraging Severus " Not even Dumbledore?"

"What do the words_ I won't _ the 'O' of his mouth, then shook his head rather like a dog who had just gotten wet, both a negative and as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Perhaps he could not.

"I thought as much. Then I shall not."

"Right. And we had an hour and a half, dimean to you? Do you want the Headmaster to know?"

Potter let out a breath throughd you say?"

So, the Dark Lord was a more comfortable conversation for Potter than the Dursleys. Though it was the topic which Severus had originally wanted, he found himself preferring to linger on Potter's relatives now so he could speak words that soothed (where had _that _desire come from?) - though Severus knew they would not. Mere words _could _not.

"Why would he want _me_ anyway?"

Fair point. "How should I know? It is not a desire the Dark Lord and I share."

Potter's chin jutted forward then, like they were in Potions class, arguing over points to Gryffindor. "I didn't know you would bring your cruelty here."

"My _cruelty _as you put it is not limited by location, but the company I'm with."

It was good to have this Potter back, instead of rambling about cats or one flushing from utter humiliation that Snape had found out about his abuse. A distinctly unembarassing topic for Severus, who thought shame should be reserved for pimples or being found out cheating in a test - not for it being discovered that you had been subject to cruelty by those who were meant to care for you.

Still, this argument routine … a reflex, but no longer one that Severus enjoyed. Earlier Snape had craved this arrogant boy, that brought such cruel remarks to Severus's throat – and cruel _was_ perhaps the right word – but Potter did not deserve comments like that.

Snape sighed and spoke before Potter could, lose this rare desire of Severus's forever "_Harry_."

Then he wondered why he hadn't thought that of using Potter's first name before. Perhaps there had been some part of him that was so used to _Potter _that it seemed that that was who the boy was - but this was a different side of him. And so, Snape would show a different side of himself.

"Is this you trying to prove that you can treat me with even a tiny bit of respect? A word isn't going to do that."

This gentle tone and this gentle word, _Harry_, was only a means to an end, Snape reminded himself, as he said the first name again. "Harry."

Harry actually stopped that time; apparently a word _could_ prove respect – at least enough to quieten Harry - never an easy task

"We must halt this hate, however much it would be a priority anywhere else, it cannot be so here. Here, we must simply plot. Working together means…respect."

"Can I call you Severus?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and it felt _good_. "For some reason, I doubt that you using my first name involves quite the same respect as me using yours."

"Ah. Perhaps we should leave that till later then…I'm not calling you 'sir' though."

Snape considered. "No, perhaps not - but use my first name at your own risk."

"So what am I left with if I can't call you 'sir' and can't use your first name?"

"Not much," said Snape triumphantly. "Perhaps it will have to remain 'sir'. Now, to plan." There was only so much Severus could do for Harry, without having contacted Dumbledore, without a plan, without any more power than Harry himself. "Firstly, _don't _enrage the Dark Lord."

"Hard to do when everything you do does just that. Like in…. um."

"Like in my classes?" asked Severus delicately.

"Well…yeah," said Harry after a moment, then smiled weakly. "If only you told me this before I entered Potions, I would have had a chance of not breaking."

"I think" said Severus blankly, "in class we both took turns as torturer and tortured. I'm surprised I didn't _break_ as well….Imagine that, if we can survive the Dark Lord, perhaps we _do_ have a chance of class together."

"Just stop taking points from Gryffindor and we'll be fine-"

"Stop _making_ me take points and then will we be fine."

"Unlikely. Given if I breathe slightly too loudly or have…I don't know, particularly green eyes that day, you get enraged."

What a piercing choice. Green eyes. Did Potter know? No…Harry's obvious expression proved had no idea of the true resonations of what he'd just said. There was jest in the wide eyes but a serious question in the jaw: _why do you hate so much? _He wouldn't need to ask that if he knew.

Severus didn't know what to say then, apart from "I was never truly enraged." His gaze found his hands, his long thin fingers, intertwining with each other like they had once with Lily's. "But this is not the time." Severus tensed his teeth together, to stop anymore words leaving his lips. After a few moments, he could trust himself to speak not the cutting words that are more comfortable left unspoken, but practicalities. "Number one, Harry…"

There was a pause, where they met each other's eyes, both in unfamiliarity with the word. Severus leant forward, wondering what exactly this spell of the Dark Lord's entailed. One that would lead to Severus opening Harry's mind.

"….is to b_reathe_"

"If we go through each of rather my bodily functions this might take a while."

"Easy to forget under torture," cut in Severus curtly. Harry nodded as though he understood which, Severus thought, perhaps he did. "Secondly – and this is imperative - if the Dark Lord does torture you as he will most likely do, steadfastness is essential. The torturer will be the one inflicting pain and you will be the one suffering – but, despite that, you must remember that you _are_ the stronger one, Potter."

Severus was very aware that he used the name 'Potter' to counteract the word 'stronger'; 'Harry' after that sentence would have been unspeakable.

"Holding onto that one idea or concept," continued Severus, "can mean the difference between giving in and not. Having a faith in your own cause keeps you going, however misguided that cause might be – which in your case, it is not. Whatever I've told you about subtlety in the past or whatever you believe in the present, forget about the grey in the world - cast the torturer as dark and yourself as light."

"So…" said Harry slowly. "Do what you've said never to do - be convinced that I'm in the right and hang onto that fact… Be the arrogant brat you think I am."

Snape's lips twitched. "I give you permission to irritate them as much as you did me. Your morale is key."

"You… sound like you've had a lot of experience. Sir."

This was sickening. Teaching Harry how to resist the worst of the Dark Lord's whims as if tutoring him through potions. A boy, a child, who had no choice in this, was just the victim of a prophecy, randomly named.

"Yes and I am still alive…. Remember, too, that whatever I may do…" added Severus, thinking of what the Dark Lord had said about opening Potter's mind. If Severus were to have a role in Harry's pain…"It is all a guise."


	6. tightrope

**A/N: The bit with Lucius in was meant to go on the end of the last chapter - oh well, I'll move it later**

The door opened and Lucius Malfoy stepped in. With no warning. To find Severus and Harry staring a little bit too hard at each other.

"Lucius." Severus stood up, begun a verbal tirade to distract him from the image. "Hopefully you won't mutilate this as much as you did the Ministry. We have finally managed to capture Harry Potter, the importance of which I hope even you can ascertain."

"_Thank_ you, Severus. I was sad hear that you are walking a very thin line with the Dark Lord. It would be a pity, indeed, if… you toppled."

Lucius was correct. The tightrope Severus always trod was even thinner now – and the higher Severus had reached in the Dark Lord's ranks, the further there was to fall.

Then, Lucius turned to Harry.

"The Dark Lord will see you."

Somehow, Harry stood up. Though Severus knew the boy had been healed enough to do so, it still felt as if Harry's bones would break if he put any weight on them. Though that was purely sentimental.

"Who's the Dark Lord?" asked Harry, voice barely shaking, and Severus was no longer worried that Harry might fall over - but worried that if he didn't fall over there would be nothing to make him _shut the hell up. _Lucius narrowed his eyes and leant forward slightly on his cane at the same time as Harry. The space between them lessened within seconds, and their noses were almost touching. "I know this guy called Voldemort, but I've never heard of the _Dark Lord_. Sounds like something from Star Wars."

_Star Wars_. Severus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Had he not said _don't enrage_?

At least Lucius was complete obliviousness to all things muggle but the Death Eater still recognised the unsubtle tone, the even less veiled implications and, the obvious: his Master being called by a name he forbade. Lucius's fist flinched as if he were struggling not to strike out but, remarkably, he kept himself contained, his voice the only betrayer of his anger as he spoke.

"Do not use his name."

"You're scum, just like your son!" were the words that made Lucius do it.

Though Lucius did not love Draco for himself but the twisted, selfish fact that Draco was his sole heir, the feeling was as strong. For Lucius there was nothing greater than his current and future name, honour and legacy. Harry had managed to insult all three in as little words as possible. With an efficiency that Severus would admire at _any _other time but this.

Severus, too, felt a rush of heat in defence for Draco, the boy he had slowly lost to the Dark Lord - but there was still hope, surely there was still hope. Just like there was for Harry, despite the plans the Dark Lord no doubt for him. Yet that was forgotten when Lucius drew back his hand, forgetting his wand for once, indulging in a primal urge: to hurt.

Severus Snape would never enjoy to seeing anyone tortured, but there had been a time that to see Harry Potter hurt would have made his lip curl with glee. Bring the boy down to size, let him know who's in charge, show him what is what… Tortured, no – but harmed? Absolutely.

That had changed. To say the least. Severus could no longer bare to see Potter even receive a slap in the face, knowing what he had endured at the hands of his relatives, knowing the connotations even that could bring to the boy's mind. When Lucius Malfoy did just that, magic forgotten to rage, Snape could do nothing but strain uselessly against the manacles his own mind had forged: that he could nothing to prevent the unfolding scene.

Harry's cheek turned red with the pink blur and echoing, and yet still quick, noise - but, somehow, his head did not move under the force or perhaps that was a trick of Severus's eyes.

Then, Lucius collected himself, withdrew proudly like a peacock, acting in control.

"The _Dark Lord _asked me to prepare you. First you will change your attire."

"I'll do as I like and not as _he_ likes."

"Oh," Lucius said, lip curling, "but you will."

"You think he'll torture me and I'll give in? No! As I said, loud and clear, I going to resist!"

Lucius flicked his wand. Black robes, not unlike Severus's Death Eater ones, appeared on the bed, neatly folded. Harry turned and promptly spat on them; Severus felt a rush of…awe? Utter bewilderment? Rage that Harry endangered himself so? The dominant feeling was waste. Such a stupid thing to die for. Spit.

"You _dare_!" said Lucius, stepping forward, looking like he was about to strike Harry again. "You are lucky the Dark Lord has prohibited me from hurting you, but he _will_."

Ah, that is why Lucius was resisting (apart from the slip when he had raised his hand) - because he was safe in the knowledge that the Dark Lord would have his way later.

"Let him try!"

No…thought Snape. Do _not _let him try. Did Harry really think that just because he had escaped the Dark Lord before, he would be able to do now? He was in the Dark Lord's own territory; e_verything _had changed; did Harry expect a mere Cruciatus? Though _mere _was a chilling word when applied to that, if Harry insulted the Dark Lord again, the consequences would be so much worse would ruin all Severus's hopes; they wouldn't have even had a chance to try to escape if Potter ruined it now.

Lucius waved his wand again, and Harry was clad. The high black collar looked odd on him – as odd as Severus himself would look if he wore white, flowing robes. Or, indeed, if the Dark Lord wore lipstick.

Lucius leant further forward, eyes on Potter's own; Snape was struck again how much they looked like Lily's – yet another time too many in the last two days. Lily and Harry were interchangeable in that green; Snape felt that those eyes, whoever their owner, should not meet the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Not that Lily had been exempt from facing Death Eaters -quite the opposite. She had held her own in a way Snape could never. But still, Severus had always felt it perverse that she in particular should have to.

"You will bow, Potter. To the Dark Lord. As he enters."

Potter too, looked comfortable with Death Eaters. He raised his eyebrows. Not the same, powerless boy of before who cowered at the abusive feet of muggles but a wizard who emitted power as if it were a physical heat.

"Are you not noticing a pattern here?" said Potter. "The answer is no."

Potter had used it: cool, delicious sarcasm…but wrongly as always. It was meant to protect you, allow you to insult without being detected, but Harry's use was obvious. Like in potions, Potter used tools of delicacy and ripped them to shreds.

Potter apparently didn't see the downsides of the tactic of goading Lucius Malfoy, member of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle -that is, the Dark Lord who wanted to either torture Harry to recruitment or to death.

Perhaps Harry had wagered: _how much worse can it get? _That mind-set only worked if Potter had given up on hope of escape – whereas Severus planned to do just that, and he needed Potter to delay the Dark Lord's wrath as long as possible if that was to have any chance of happening - which Potter was not doing, to describe it lightly.

Potter, though, was in the robes the Dark Lord wanted, as healthy and functional as he desired, as ready as the Dark Lord thought he should be to serve. If, that was, the Dark Lord succeeded in making Potter his own. Many would scream that it was impossible that the Boy Who Lived could be recruited so, but Severus was a pessimist – a realist. Not for a moment did he believe Potter was immune. Snape had no idea of the Dark Lord's plan, only that it involved Snape - and Snape would oblige unless he found a way out that somehow avoided both their deaths.

Lucius didn't need to act in control next, he _was_. "It is your choice, of course," said Lucius curtly, before placing his hand on his Mark.

Snape felt the familiar sting of the Dark Lord being called – but he did not apparate straight into the room. Instead, there was a small pop from the corridor. The Dark Lord must have wanted a dramatic entrance through the door, never one for understatement – but it had been rather ruined by the pop from the corridor.

It was moments like these that reminded Severus that the Dark Lord was imperfect, a human being however much he didn't want to be.

And gave Severus a small chance for a laugh, even if silent.

Then, the door opened and the Dark Lord stepped in, black robes swirling as he faced what no doubt was the only thing he had been thinking of in the last few days. The Dark Lord's eyes did not move from Potter; Potter's eyes did not move from the Dark Lord.

Lucius and Severus's gaze flicked between them both.

Potter, predictably, did not bow; the Dark Lord, unpredictably, slowly smiled.

The Dark Lord did not look at Lucius as he said "Lucius, leave. Ward these doors. Let no one in and let no one out," as if Lucius wasn't even worth his gaze, only Potter.

Lucius scurried like a frightened rat, discovered to be feasting on higher animals' rejections. Perhaps it was Severus's imagination, but Lucius seemed to taint red as he shut the door behind him - behaving like Harry should be. Whereas Potter did not flinch or look down or blush, like had had so often when discussing his relatives.

"Severus," said the Dark Lord, not looking at him either. "You will stay."

While Severus was glad to stay where he could gather as much information as possible, he was weary of why he was needed.

"And you, Harry…" The Dark Lord's waved his wand for two – not three – plush armchairs to appear. "Please, sit."

Harry opened his mouth in wordless shock – understandably – before it shut in that expression Severus had learnt to treat with weariness: a line of resolution. Harry sat on the bed with a light bounce as ignoring the Dark Lord's request were an inconsequential action. Weariness, indeed.

The Dark Lord did not move for a split second, uncertainty softening his features into something else completely, something Snape didn't know Tom Riddle had; Harry had _already_ forced him to pause. The moment was soon over though, as the Dark Lord nodded, and had probably been a so subtle one that Harry hadn't noticed it - and so hadn't been able to gain any encouragement from it either, any affirmation that he was doing well.

Instead of offering the second chair to Snape, the Dark Lord banished it and sat in a chair of his own. Apparently Snape was to remain the corner, among the shadows. The Dark Lord crossed his legs, leaning on the arm, his hands interlocked with each other, regarding Harry. Unlike Dumbledore, who searched for truth and strength, he searched for weakness, pressure points in Harry's physique.

"Yes, Harry," he said slowly, tongue somehow still letting out a long hiss after the word ended. "I will be particularly glad to own you….After all, the harder one has to work for something, the more worth it has. You will be the top prize because of it."

Though the Dark Lord was lying, though the words were meaningless manipulation, Severus was reminded of how easy he had been to …_own._

Then the Dark Lord's lips curled. "Unlike Severus here," he added, as if he needed to.

Potter flicked a glance in Severus's direction. Non-judgemental, just watching for Severus's reaction but Snape still felt uneasy, unworthy. Sweating, he willed his Occlumency shields higher.

The fact that the Dark Lord had not punished Harry for disobeying twice meant that either Harry was somehow beating the Dark Lord– unlikely; no, impossible – or – the only other option – the Dark Lord had something so spectacular planned that he could make a few concessions for it. Severus wondered what would happen if he ever disobeyed the Dark Lord so overtly. Not that he had to search for the answer long: it would have been extermination.

Then, Potter spoke. Not that Severus had expected it to take long. "Why do you want _me_?"

The same question Harry had asked Severus. Severus wished he could snatch the question from Harry's lips, but it was in the air now, wafting to the Dark Lord. Instead of conveying a belief in his own unreachable goodness as Harry obviously intended, it showed self-doubt. As if Harry believed he was unworthy of the Dark Lord's desire - rather than superior to it. Perhaps Severus, should have warned Harry about appearing weak.

Yet, once more, the Dark Lord acted in discordance to all rules. "You underestimate your value."

"What - more than a boy mentioned in a prophecy?"

Mention of the prophecy made Snape uncomfortable – no, more than that. Out of place. Embarrassed to exist.

The Dark Lord's reaction was how Severus felt: stopping as if life had been momentarily sucked out of him…before shifting back to his relaxed position. "You've heard the full prophecy? No matter. I can offer you more than anything muttered by Trelawney could."

Harry turned around to fluff the pillows, before pulling himself up to leant against them, crossing his legs to lie on the bed. The Dark Lord didn't even flinch at disrespect that he had probably never been shown.

"I don't get what you would gain from me," said Potter lightly, staring at the ceiling as if were considering an academic problem he might encounter at school. "Other than the fury of Dumbledore, that is. Which is hardly a _gain_"

Indeed. The fury: the blinding unmatched power when what Dumbledore holds dearest is threatened. Harry Potter. Severus Snape, too, to a lesser extent - but he had never been so petted and over-complimented as Potter. He had been left to rot in his own home.

Severus's next breath was slightly heavier. Left to rot, much the same as Harry…. There must be a reason Potter remained at the Dursleys, some support in place that Snape wasn't seeing. Dumbledore would surely have noticed the darkness in Potter, stark against his gold person - rather than how it had been against Snape's already black personality: invisible.

"I gain _you_," said the Dark Lord. "The snake so cunning, I didn't realise he was a snake. You have strength, stupidity and a mind unlike any of my Death Eaters in that it's brave, loyal and noble. All characteristics I admire."

"Stupidity?"

The Dark Lord smiled, wrinkling his face into something grotesque. "Cleverness is not something I desire in a slave."

Which is what had made Severus a dangerous one – not a slave at all.

"You're _offering_ me slavery?"

Harry would make an awful Death Eater. Sarcastic tones, undermining of the Dark Lord's authority and suspicion of everything were all actions Snape understood…but to be so obvious about it, to show your hand before the game had even begun, to be so Gryffindor did nothing but ensure death – an apparent desire of Harry's that Snape did not share. Though Snape believed spying would one day kill him, delaying the day as long as possible gave him as long as possible to _fight. _Wars needed mascots, the lucky one in a million or less, but the work that won the war was undetected.

The Dark Lord was still, as he spoke, statue-esque apart from his mouth moving. "Better than pain, don't you think?"

"So that _is _why you're here. For me to join you? Why would I trust you? Why don't you just kill me?"

Each time Potter piled on another question, it decreased the likelihood of an answer. Did he have no idea how the world worked? _Why don't you just kill me? _Almost an invitation, that last question…

"That would be no fun."

There were a few moments before Potter spoke again. "And you've failed in killing me so often, I suppose you're scared to try again."

Did Potter think this was class, where mischievous comments would simply yield sniggers from friends and, at most, a detention? For a moment, Snape thought that the Dark Lord had lost all control and was about to kill: his chair was gone and he was leaning over the lolling figure of Harry as if weighless, like a predator that had just caught his prey. One finger stroked Harry's face.

"Which is _why,_ young Potter," said the Dark Lord delicately. "This time, I will not let you die. I will torture you to _insanity_ if you do not comply. You remember the Longbottoms…Well, you only need to say the words 'I am yours' and you will be able to continue to rememberthem, rather than _be _them. Nothing could be so simple."

Then, the Dark Lord was back in his seat, as if nothing had happened, the danger apparently gone instantaneously – but it was a tense spring that could uncoil again at any time. Harry, who had fallen back as the Dark Lord leant over him, sat back at up, hair sticking in all directions, watching the man who held his life in his hands with something narrower in his gaze. Was it with a new fear that Harry looked or a new resilience?

"But why do you want me? You have dozens of skilled followers. Am I the final win?"

"Because Dumbledore would rather bleed to death than lose you. Join me."

"No," said Harry, confidently, as if he didn't know what was to come after his refusal of the Dark Lord once again. "I'd rather die."

The Dark Lord rose his wand, whispering one word "_crucio_" again and again and again. Snape was used to feeling powerless, an observer and a reporter, a man of brain and not action, yet now he felt his muscles twitch nearly as much as Harry's own, straining to rip the wand out of those cruel fingers, screaming to do something, to be near Harry -but Snape's brain, forever the bringer of disappointment, asked the question that mattered: what _could _he do? The best thing would be to wait, to preserve his vital position. To watch. Through Harry's screams and those of his own memories, Severus could almost feel it: the heavy wings of magic, soaring and dropping him; the pain.

Harry's muscles stopped twitching and he lay still.

The Dark Lord's face, very close to Harry's own. "I am offering you something magnificent."

"I would rather die." A rasping voice through fluttering eyelids.

"_Let _you die. I think not. Lose your mind, Harry, or lose your allegiance to Dumbledore. Join me and I will save you from this suffering." The Dark Lord straightened. "I will leave you for now, give you one more chance change your mind before the real persuasion starts. I hope you are wise, Harry. I hate to spill the blood of great Wizards."

The Dark Lord left. The cool air circled Severus from the open window, his breathing stirring the lack of silence, the lack of the Dark Lord. Harry's eyes closed. Severus, shaking from exhaustion, from the momentary lack of threat, stumbled to the corner and wrapped himself up in a tatty blanket that Malfoy Manor had probably never seen the likes of before. His eyes closed too.

**A/N: A ridiculous steal from Blake there with the 'manacles' comment– but rather than rewrite his words and pretend they're my own, I thought it would be better to overtly copy him. **

**Please let me know what you thought! What worked/what didn't etc. **


	7. birthday

Food.

The smell, before anything else.

Stronger than ever before – because he wanted it all the more. Opening his eyes, he saw through the darkness to a cloaked Death Eater standing at the open door. So lowly, if he was bringing food…

Severus was even lower if he was being brought food, like a prisoner…

Severus didn't stand up until he knew he wouldn't stumble, however much his mouth watered. When he did, and the world tilted from the horizontal to a plane that made sense, he took the plate – potatoes, a white sauce, steam – from the figure. Severus didn't even look him in the eye, so concentrated on the hot thing in his hands. Then the door closed wordlessly, the triangle of white light that had fell across the floor turned to nothing.

Hand shaking, Severus spelled open the curtains – morning - to reveal Harry, in the same position as before. A lump under the duvet. Somehow, before Severus ate any himself, he said "Potter" and walked over. Severus could actually see as Harry inhaled the smell: the frown that had creased his face all night became nothing. So quickly, Harry opened his eyes, sat up and said "food".

"Indeed."

Harry nodded, but his eyes were hungry and Snape said "sit up, Potter." Harry did so, quickly. From the windowsill, Severus summoned the now-fixed decorative plate that Harry had smashed before, scraped half the food into it before giving it to him with a matching decorative fork (the Malfoys were beyond comprehension – but he was thankful in this rare case).

Harry ate slowly; Severus, in too much bliss of taste to say anything, just forked potato after potato in his mouth.

"Don't eat too quickly."

"Excuse me?"

Harry shook his head, placing a potato into his own mouth and closing his eyes as he chewed. Even after he swallowed, he stayed still. Savouring, before opening his eyes once again.

"I just… it's not a good idea," he said, meeting Severus's gaze plainly. "If you haven't eaten in this long, eating really quickly will just make you throw up – which is a real waste."

Harry wrinkled nose as if it were the ultimately offensive action. Though it was useful, it was sickening that Harry knew that. Unimaginable.

After the plates had been cleaned, Severus banished them, and leant forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I guess I was just tired."

"Nothing to do with any Cruciatus, I am sure."

Harry smiled weakly. "Could you re-do the charm on my eyes by the way?"

"Of course."

Severus shifted forward, carefully resting his fingers on Harry's temples and murmured "_Videus_".

"Thanks," said Harry, looking at Severus for a few seconds, calculatingly. On the surface, it looked Slytherin - not in manipulation, but the depth and shade of thought. "You…Me…" he said eventually "This is just so different. Unexpected."

"I am not teaching you Potions, for one," said Severus unwilling to go any further into any of his feelings, which sat like a nearly-finished potion, needing only one more ingredient: spoken words to confirm. Severus didn't know what would happen if he added it- Explosions? Poison? Healing? – and nor did he want to find out. So he stayed quiet.

"What's the date, anyway?" asked Harry, an obvious, easy change of subject that Severus had also been about to provide.

"The thirty-first of July."

"_Really_?"

Severus watched Harry's happy face with dawning comprehension, then he pinched the bridge his nose. "Oh, Merlin it's …"

"It's my birthday!"

"This place is truly one of torture," he drawled. "So, what would you like as a gift? Unfortunately, there's not much I can offer you."

Harry shook his head, apparently believing that Severus's "unfortunately" was sincere. "Oh that's alright. It's cool I'm sixteen though. Horrid place to spend it but…" Harry shrugged, as if to say _I'm not used to much more_. Severus thought that perhaps that was true.

"I could offer you a Malfoy photo album. This room has many of those. Or another piece of decorated cutlery."

Harry's eyes actually lit up. "Are you serious?"

"I assume that such excitement isn't anticipation of seeing another fork?" asked Severus with a raised eyebrow. "No, you…_want_ to look through photos of the Malfoys? I wasn't serious until you looked so happy about it."

"That would be golden."

"Golden to see Malfoy memories reminisce at their beauty? Or golden because it would be hilarious?"

Harry bit on his lip, unsuccessfully biting back a grin. "Have a guess."

Severus shifted, the wood of his chair feeling much harder. "You think that I want to give you more material to bully Draco with?"

"I don't _bully_."

"No, you only tease and chastise."

Harry's mouth set into a hard line and his first curled. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I'm not my father? You would support Malfoy and your Slytherins even if they beat me up right in front of you."

Severus opened his mouth to let his tongue whip, but the Harry's words held it in chains. Harry hadn't even blamed Draco, whined how it was not him that was bullying, told of the much worse Draco had teased _him _about– rather he had taken the braver approach, and accused Snape of prejudice. Instead of war through indirect words and hidden anger, Harry had tackled the problem more dangerous because of its closeness– Snape – rather than the one so far away it could barely harm– Malfoy.

"No. I see now that…" He took a deep breath, before meeting Harry's eyes; it was much trickier to say something like this, rather than something biting; how tempted he was to… "That you are not your father in every way. I am not accusing you of such. I simply do not wish to increase misery, whether it is your own or Mr. Malfoy's."

Harry stared at him, as if sussing out the plot behind the words, the Slytherin behind the Gryffindor well-meaning. There was none, so Severus easily met the gaze. Harry was as much as a Gryffindor as his father. However, the thing that Severus had perhaps forgotten, was that Harry was as much a Gryffindor as his mother too.

"Well, er, good…Because I would never do what my father-"

"Best that we don't discuss that again."

"Oh yeah. Sorry. Sir. But yeah, anyway…" Harry rubbed his arm. "This isn't like _bullying_. I would do the same to Ron with his childhood photographs."

"_Really_?"

"I know you don't believe me, but it's not like Malfoy hasn't done his fair share to me – more than his fair share I would say – and this is just-"

"If it stops you rambling, we will look," said Snape quickly. Though his mind had been made up the moment he had said the words _you are not your father_, he had enjoyed seeing Harry struggle for a while but that had gone on longer and had been even more intense than even he could permit. When Harry had apologised for his father's shortcomings, Severus had seen for the first time a minor form of what Dumbledore had so lamented about and what Severus had viewed at the time as so alien, like they were referrals to a different Harry Potter: Harry's habit of harbouring guilt of all the world's sins. Well, that would have to stop. But not now. Snape wasn't the most experienced in birthday celebrations, but knew that _that _talk wouldn't provide the wildest party. The chubby Malfoy toddler would have to do.

With a threatening glance at Harry, Severus lay the albums from the drawer on Harry's legs.

"Bloody hell. It feels like they're breaking my bones."

"That heavy? Think of the weight of these as relative to the Malfoy's self-obsession."

Severus shifted them a bit so he took some of the weight too, paused for a moment before he to come to terms with the fact that he was spending some of his summer in a room with Harry Potter, perusing baby photos of Draco Malfoy…before turning the first page.

"Is that really him? This _is _hilarious," said Harry at the first picture he saw. Severus snorted, more from Harry's reaction. Draco Malfoy, aged two or three, was covered in chocolate; his blonde hair was dripping, and his face was screwed up in a wail. Photo after photo, laugh after laugh from Harry. It was…hilarious.

Severus was aware that Harry's reaction was more than the situation really warranted; yet, could he deny him this? This sudden, eye-watering joy. It almost hurt because it was so… Desperate. Severus was nervous that it was faked.

Yet, when Harry lay back down to sleep, he was still smiling. "That is the best birthday present ever, sir."

* * *

The next time the door opened, Severus had no idea what time it was, apart from it was night. It felt like had had slept for days. Both he and Harry were slow, slow to push aside the grogginess for fear. When Severus stood up, hunger almost weighed him back down. It had been over a day since the potatoes.

He bowed all the same. "My Lord."

It was not the Dark Lord, though; it was Lucius Malfoy.

"You've certainly changed your tone with me," said Lucius, looking at Snape with a twisted lip.

"Lucius! I thought it was the Dark Lord…"

"I understand." Lucius looked around the room and waved his wand "Let's have some light."

The candles on the walls lit to a gentle flicker. Snape waited for the thorn behind Lucius's rosy front, aware he had moved to stand in front of the bed in the corner where Harry slept.

"What a task…" said Lucius. "To treat a boy who you have so hated."

"He is nearly ours now."

"Do you believe it?"

"I believe what the Dark Lord says is true."

"Hm," said Lucius softly, and Severus could see that Lucius, unlike many of the Death Eaters, did not suspect Severus of betrayal. Perhaps the sickening hours Severus had spent flattering a pouting Draco at Dumbledore's request had reaped usable consequences. Dumbledore had seen danger in Draco from his first year – to Draco's self and his accidental victims rather than as any serious player in the war. It was this encouragement that gave Severus the courage to step blindly into the danger of the next few sentences - no, not blindly but choosing not to see it, for Severus could if he wanted, in gruesome, experienced detail.

"Your mansion is magnificent."

"It has been in my family for many years, passed down from father to son….A mudblood has not yet seen its insides," Lucius added, with a small smile.

Severus took a delicate, physical step forward as he did so, and not letting his eyes leave Lucius's; his confident gaze was his greatest weapon, manipulator. Then he went in for the sentence he had been revolving around.

"It must have many secrets."

"Too many to know, let alone count, although I do intend to try."

"I am very interested in old houses, you see…" Or had been since he thought that knowledge about them might become in useful in matters of life or death. "I was wondering whether this house has secret passages? They are the rarest of things."

Snape's tone did not betray the mind underneath, and Lucius had no suspicion that were having anything else but a boring conversation.

Lucius's gaze bulged towards Harry. "Do you think we should be discussing this in _his _company?"

"I don't see why not. As I said, I trust the Dark Lord." At Lucius's sceptical look, Snape added "Regardless, it's unlikely your house even has this. It would be a great testament to the wealth and age of your house if it did-"

Lucius's eyebrows raised in anticipation, the creases of stress forgotten. "Oh? What is it?"

"A statue, that if you press the eye of and use the incantation _Aperio_… it opens. Next to pillar or deep wall is the most usual place, for it has the space to reveal a chamber or passage."

There was only one thing Severus could do now: hope Lucius found a potentially non-existent passage that felt as fleeting and unreliable as a dream right now – and, if luck was nimble enough to fit that slim chance, make Harry well enough to escape – the details of how were so far…non-existent - the locked room, drag him to relative…safety? Just outside Malfoy Manor? There was no such thing.

Severus -who lived in the hottest battlefield between two enemies, dodging each of their blows by lying and changing, relying on his own wit and awareness for his continued existence - was used to scrappily put-together plans, but had never had one like this.

"Fascinating. I will be sure to check. And with the regards to the boy?"

Severus hesitated for an unnoticeable moment. "He is alive, barely speaking but _functional_ as the Dark Lord requested."

Lucius smirked - no doubt happy that it was Severus walking the tightrope, rather than Lucius, who had been so asked to perform so many impossible tasks in the last few months to inevitable failure, as punishment for the Ministry.

"The Dark Lord asked me to prepare you once again," said Lucius. "He expects you to perform your duty, and thought it would be fitting to give you warning. He wants Potter ready when he arrives, which is soon. He said that you would know what that entailed…I must admit, Severus, I am curious…"

Lucius left the room with a pretentious swirl of his cane.


	8. Somnius

Severus turned to Harry.

"Potter!"

Harry jerked awake, breathing deeply, eyes landing on Severus wildly, then he lashed, out hitting Severus in the nose, who held it, blinking back tears.

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon, I see," said Severus, stifling a drop of blood now with his finger.

"Sorry, _Severus_."

Severus opened his mouth to make a stinging objection, but then realised. The bastardly point about first names and last name. Ah. Severus swallowed, swept to Harry's bed, sat on it, forgetting about the throbbing in his nose and grabbed Harry's wrists; Harry looked at him, question in his eyes.

"_Harry_. The Dark Lord is coming in a matter of minutes. Before he does, I will open your mind as painlessly as possible for you." Severus glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Do as I said. Breathe. Be strong. Remember you are in the right. Most of all, remember than anything I do is a guise. I may have to work against you – remember it is done in the long long-term interest of working _for _you. Do you understand?"

"Well, yeah. Of course I do," said Harry, shrugging.

"No," said Severus, shaking his head. "You do not." The next words were sticky and hard to form, but he forced his lips to move. "I may have to _hurt _you."

"I know!" said Harry, sitting up, pillows forgotten. "Of course I do! I mean I thought you were lying at first. But I now I understand."

"Yes, you understand _now_, you foolish boy – when you are not in pain. Later may be different."

"But I-"

"There is no time." Severus let Harry's wrists go, placing his fingers on the boy's temples. "Keep your eyes open. This will not hurt." Then Severus felt his mouth twitch. "You are a Dragon. Let the Dark Lord feel that fire. Like I did before…"

Severus eased his way into Harry's mind, eyelids flickering, trying to be quick – the Dark Lord had given him little time, especially taking into consideration Harry's mind's weariness of him. Severus deserved only that, he supposed. If only Potter had studied, trusted him-

Then, he was in, though it was not as simple as that: like a dam opening, he trickled at first. And then awash. He ran through, not drowning Harry's mind like before, but supporting it. And, unfortunately, opening it.

Then, timeless waiting. He knew only of the Dark Lord's entrance through Harry's reaction: a tension in his very neurons. And the shadow of the Dark Lord's wand behind Severus in Harry's thoughts.

He could physically hear the word, though.

"_Somnius_."

And everything that the Dark Lord did to Harry, Severus saw.

He steered Harry's thoughts and shaped Harry's mind into a small room with an image of Harry inside – whose wand was shaking slightly in his hand, wrapped up in his own bruises that Severus had healed but were here in his mind- a small boy in a small neighbourhood, surrounded by trivial people ignoring him and meagre possessions, facing the most dangerous force on earth in a small room on the top floor of a terrace house in his mind.

Harry actually believed he was back at Privet Drive – that was where the Dark Lord had taken him.

Severus watched, invisible.

Somehow, Harry kept the prophecy tucked away. Maybe those lessons come to some use, but Severus doubted it… Judging by his secretly bruised body, Harry could keep his fragilities to himself anyway – even in his very own mind.

Then the room was filled with other presences.

Sirius, whirring around…

Vernon, knocking on the door

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Please," said Harry, and it permeated through the room – Privet Drive and Malfoy Manor - the connection between the Dark Lord, Harry and Severus. "No."

Then, there was fire, from Harry's mind, warming him, Dragon's fire, as if he were protecting his eggs… The words _You are a dragon _encircling him… It heated Harry, like a beating heart. Severus could feel what Harry felt. Thought what Harry thought.

Harry imagined too that he were in his dormitory with Ron and Hermione.

Perhaps Hermione was doing her homework-

Hermione would be doing _his_ homework but at the same time laughing-

Laughing with he and Ron-

Someone's hands taking his wrists, but he could not think of who…

And it would be relaxed and spacious-

And then a broom would appear-

The dormitory window would open, red curtains flapping in the wind, and Harry would jump on his broom, his Firebolt, and he would _soar-_

The knocking got louder.

Yellow teeth and a gleeful smile. Beetle eyes and a wobbling chin. Clenching fists and running blood-

"No."

Harry _would_ soar, up and up, twisting around the towers of Hogwarts. Students below in the courtyards would gasp and point, as he was reduced to a speck against the mountains, and then nothing as Ron, Hermione and his parents flew by him-

They would.

Harry almost smiled-

"Boy!"

The noise was the loudest Harry had ever heard; it smothered him. He could not think. The noise was pain. Like a wave finally crashing, the noise reached its peak and then broke into a buzzing silence…

Harry's thoughts stopped. Severus was at Malfoy Manor again, half-sitting half-lying on the bed like he had been thrown out by a stormy sea. The Dark Lord was in his chair, wand aloft, gaze locked with Harry's – though their eyes were closed. Then

A strange, orange and yellow beam of jumping light stretched from the Dark Lord's wand to Harry – all over Harry, a light glow, though it was particularly condensed around his head. Then the connection faltered – and broke. The Dark Lord opened his eyes, breathing hard in a state that he usually let nobody see, his gaze still on Harry for a few moments who was still unconscious on the bed before it fell on Snape.

"The spell, my Lord…." Severus could not stop himself speaking from a need to speak the remarkable words out loud. "You make him see whatever you want."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. Cold and furious. "Or so…Severus, I thought. He pushed us out…"

"As to be expected," said Snape, quickly dismissing his interest in the workings of the spell and kneeling down to serve, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, before looking up at him and resuming his seat on the bed. "As the boy grows weaker, you will grow stronger and, with it, will come increased ease. He will not be able to resist you much longer. My Lord, he will be under you power."

"My greatest prize."

The Dark Lord did not detect Snape's pause. "Your greatest prize, indeed."

The Dark Lord raised his head as if it was a great effort, but his eyes, which looked up at Snape, were tingling with a desire to hurt.

"He unwittingly told me that you taught him Occulemency."

This was news to Snape, who had only seen flashes, images and fleeting emotions of Harry's – as if Snape were watching from a different plane.

"You _talked_? I have…never heard of such a spell."

"His mind was my stomping ground," said the Dark Lord plainly. "I could quite literally do whatever I liked…until the end. He said that you had weakened his mind in Occlumency lessons."

_A guise_, Severus had said to Harry. To protect him. Was this Harry's own guise? To make Severus seem more trustworthy to the Dark Lord? Or did he actually believe it?

Snape's expression did not change as he recited his pre-prepared, automatic answer. "He was awful. Even if I put all my efforts into teach him – which, of course, I did not - he still would have failed."

"Yet, he did not fail tonight. Are you suggesting that my skill is worse than his?"

"No, my Lord! This is nothing to do with his skill, but the fact that your whole presence was in his brain rather than just skimming the surface as usual. Invading so deep into the core of the mind will stimulate ingrained, natural defence mechanisms, which need no conscious thought or skill from the owner."

If the Dark Lord had any doubts in regards to the truth of what Severus was saying, he did not show it, instead straightened himself fully, taking his wand out his pocket and fingering it.

"You will tell me anything you learn that concerns Harry Potter," he said, eyeing his wand like a precious diamond, not once looking at Snape, as if bored. "Fail to tell me something like the Occlumency lessons again, and you will not live long enough to regret it. _Crucio_."

Severus could not even hear his own screams…

The room became itself again, and his mind re-learnt how to think. He staggered to his feet. Bowed once, and somehow thought out his next request.

"My Lord… I wonder if you have given more though to my request regarding Albus Dumbledore."

"Ah…yes. I agree you will resume your role as spy as soon as possible."

Severus could barely quench the high-pitched joy in his voice. "Thank you, my Lord."

"You have one hour. When you return, we shall continue."

Severus walked out of the room, somehow not letting his gaze fall on Harry – but he could imagine the green eyes on him –watching as the door closed. While he was locked in and Snape, free to go. No…Potter was asleep. He walked to outside the borders of Malfoy Manor then apparated to Hogsmeade walking to his dungeons first – to breathe, to think, to smell the thick air, to…something – and then flooed from there to Dumbledore's office. The fire and Snape's robes whirled, the rush tilting Dumbledore's chin up from his writing to Severus's face. Upon seeing Snape's expression, he took two strides towards him and Snape did the same, meeting halfway.

The man must have been desperate. Harry Potter and Severus Snape had disappeared. With no news for over a week.

Dumbledore blinked at Severus's expression and Snape knew from that that his face must betray more than he wanted it to. Dumbledore's hesitation before speaking was only a blink's worth, so short it would be invisible to most – but Snape is not most.

"Severus," he said once he had composed himself. "Please, take a seat."

Severus did so, stumbling into his seat more than anything else, hardly aware how he got there or how Dumbledore had come to be him opposite him, sitting at the desk as well.

"Do you need anything? A drink? Some food?" Severus blankly shook his head but said nothing. After a moment of silence, Dumbledore filled it. "I am relieved to see that you are, if not well, in one piece... I fear I know what you have come to say. Please, end my impatient wait to see if I am correct."

Given the look on the Headmaster's face, Severus assumed Dumbledore's fears were spot on and skipped the explanation – this w_as _the Headmaster. All he found he could ask was "what do we do?"

"I have been trying to formulate a plan, to get you both out. To no avail, given I wasn't certain of your location nor your predicament."

"How did you know?" asked Severus, the words coming out with a breath.

"You were both missing. I went to Little Whingeing myself and the Dursleys were gone." Dumbledore shifted in his chair. "I wanted to visit them regardless, with a few suggestions as to how they could better treat Harry…"

Dumbledore paused when Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Severus shook his head and closed it, knowing that this was not the time.

"There was only one explanation," continued Dumbledore, after studying Severus for a few moments. "That Harry had been taken against his will."

"The blood wards fell. That's how the Dark Lord reached him. What could have possibly made them fall?"

Dumbledore's hands were white on the arms of the chair. As if noticing that his body was betraying him, Albus released his grip, opening and closing his hands twice before placing them together.

"A number of things," said Dumbledore, in a quiet voice. "None of them good. Wallowing now though will not help - and only give us more reason to wallow later, after not acting as quickly as we should have. How is Harry?"

"The Dark Lord's has him – is in his mind. I don't completely understand how… Torture. Complete and utter…torture… Unless Potter joins him. He's using a spell I'm unfamiliar with - the incantation for which is _Somnius_."

There was a moment where something like shock dominated Dumbledore's features, before they cleared once more. Severus raised an eyebrow but Dumbledore shook his head, frowning, staring at his hands, apparently forgetting Severus was there for such a long time that Severus had unwanted time to take in the bags under his eyes, the lines of his face-

"How has he invaded Harry's mind so easily?" asked Dumbledore.

"Potter was...weak anyway."

There was only a flinch of desire to know why in Dumbledore's top lip, before he steepled himself to concentrate solely on the matter at hand; Severus knew that the Headmaster must have deduced most of it and must be forcing himself to ignore his conclusions for now in the interests of Harry's escape.

"How is he coping, Severus?"

"Badly, but fighting. Badly, but alive."

Severus didn't want to describe the body broken he'd left, twisted as if it had been chucked onto the bed, not moving from its position when it landed. The green eyes closed. The breathing inaudible. The memories of Vernon and Sirius, which were more at place in a horror story – in _fiction_ – still carved into the Harry's hard expression even in unconsciousness.

"The ultimate win…." said Dumbledore softly, and his hands dropped from their folded position to his sides, gaze not leaving Severus. "His greatest enemy, bowing to him. How long do we have?"

"Little more than half an hour. While the Dark Lord tells Potter he wants Potter's abilities, which I'm not sure if Potter fully believes, the Dark Lord only wants to demonstrate his own strength." Snape's lips creased. "The Dark Lord is nothing if not an ego."

"So he wants Harry to come to him, but willingly? Though that is hardly an appropriate term when it comes to…"

Dumbledore was suddenly completely still.

"Torture," finished Snape, more quietly than usual, unused to helping Dumbledore in any linguistic task.

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

"Have you heard of the spell?" asked Severus.

If Snape were anyone but Snape, his head would be in his hands, but Snape is resolutely horizontal, staring at Dumbledore, waiting for nothing but action.

Dumbledore's head flinched to the side and he opened his eyes. "Yes. We don't have time to discuss it now, but just know that it is not a curse to be taken lightly."

"What do we do?"

When Dumbledore opened his eyes again, they were the icy, painful blue that defeated Grindelwald, not that of fear or glumness, and even the bags under his eyes seemed to be gone.

"We get him back, with subtlety. A full-blown attack will only reveal that you are a spy."

"Surely this is the time of any is appropriate to reveal-"

"I am not prepared to risk you Severus, not whist there are other routes we could take. Is he close to breaking?"

"Yes."

"Then we must move fast."

Dumbledore was stood at his desk, chair forgotten, with old, torn papers in his hands that didn't seem to have been there before.

Severus could not stop himself sarcastically asking, "how, exactly?"


	9. Murderer

Severus walked the halls of Malfoy Manor, gaining nothing from the discussion other than the fact that it was, indeed, all down to him to save Harry once again.

"My Lord, maybe you should take a rest," said Snape when he returned to the room, to see the Dark Lord still on the chair watching the unconscious Harry, not even looking around when Severus entered.

"And let the Order take action? I think not, you fool. Let us go, Severus. Open his eyes. This time perhaps you will be able to witness mine and Harry's conversation…"

Before Snape could relish being out of it, they were back in Harry's mind, back in the room at Privet Drive, Harry on his bed there. Severus didn't know if this was truly what the room looked like or if it was changed by dreams, but it was bare yet messy; cosy yet unforgivingly impersonal. There were no spell books, no trunk, no sign that a Wizard – and not just any Wizard, but the Boy Who Lived – lived here.

Then there was that knock again.

_Knock, knock, knock_

But this time – perhaps Harry was weaker, perhaps the Dark Lord was stronger – the door opened. Vernon smiled before striding over and grabbing Harry's wrist. Harry's jaw shook. Vernon Dursley's face was inches from his, beads of sweat quivering on the man's forehead, plaque on his teeth, hair up his nostrils – Harry, and Snape too, could see everything. Vernon Dursley twisted Harry's wrist round, causing eye-watering pain. There was a crunch. Harry's wrist fell limp.

"Please," Harry whispered, the whole of him shaking with pain. "No."

It was through no will of his own that Snape's memories electrified his mind: his sixteen year old self, cowering against the wall as his father grabbed his own wrist, twisting it until it crunched._ Please_, he had said. _No_, he had said. And no longer was he watching Harry, but himself, though he had never thought the two were interchangeable. Identical. Parallel.

Vernon Dursley put his hands around Harry's neck and squeezed. Harry took breath like a fish out of water, writhing, trying to clasp Vernon's wrists with quivering hands. He failed. Severus too, young, too young even to know his own age, choking at his father's hands, trying to clasp. He failed.

In this mirror, Harry, was hopelessness: however far wizards had come in the last thirty years, however hard Snape had fought against his own upbringing and lot in life, however much he grieved over Lily, abuse still continued in the world and, as a final punch from the Universe, to his beloved's son who he had promised to protect as his last clutch to morality. Well, he had let it go. And fallen. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen himself in Harry? Everyone else had some excuse for not noticing: Severus had been the best placed, the best equipped, the person who had sworn to try. Was there any point anymore?

Vernon was replaced, somehow, by Cedric. Dead. Blood and guts and a boy no more lying on Harry's bed. What was real anymore? Harry stood up and made for the door. Shaking it. If the Dursleys heard his screams, the rattling, they ignored it – but, no, they were not there. This was not real. This was not-

Harry's very memories strangled him, strangled Severus: Vernon, Sirius, the Dark Lord himself wrapping up around them, their neck, face, so they can no longer breathe, no longer scream, and Harry's brain split. He doubted that he would ever be able to sew it together again quite correctly, his mind. Those doubts seeped to Severus.

The Dark Lord slashed Harry, cut him and pierced him with his knives, until his very mind was no more, until life was no more, until Harry – finally -could not believe that there was any hope left.

This was not part of the agreement.

It had all been to save Lily's son.

_This _was not part of the agreement.

This – the Dark Lord's request this time – would kill him. Dumbledore had said that it was imperative that Snape keep his cover, whatever the cost. Including his own death, Severus knew. Not the death of Lily's son, though.

That was not part of the agreement.

But Severus had to admit, if Harry was good at one thing, it was not breaking.

Resisting, until nothing was left – not borne from pride, Severus noticed. Just a statement of fact, as if Harry believed anyone would do the same. Though Harry had seen evidence upon evidence that they would not, he continued to believe the best. The first illogic that Severus could admire.

Yet, the Dark Lord knew how to break people.

Number one: continue with the pain so he's soft and malleable.

Pain was how the Dark Lord worked and, always, how he succeeded. Never had someone taken so long to break. There was nothing in the beginning, as if Harry's very nerve ending were burnt, but then the Dark Lord tried again with an angrier edge - no holding back – and they felt once more. The Dark Lord drew a laughing pleasure from this, became dizzy at Harry's whitening face which was not even able to scream, its mouth stretched open and held there in a black hole of nothing. It was in Harry's mind. It was him. It was the worst experience of his life, and he would do anything-

"Anything?" And then there was only a tingling. "Anything to stop it?"

"No. That was just my thoughts!" said Harry, a voice issuing from lips that could barely move. "Not the same as words. I take it back - no!"

Number two: talk to him gently. Let him feel the absence of pain. Let him feel grateful to you for it, as if you are on his side.

The Dark Lord sat cross-legged on Harry's bed in Little Whingeing, as if he were Ron or Hermione, looking at him for a chat or a catch up or a laugh. Harry didn't know the time anymore, how long he had been in this state or even if the clock was still ticking.

"You are tremendously stupid," said the Dark Lord, and oh how Severus wished he couldn't hear the conversation. He craved blissful ignorance of last time. He had thought it was horrific then, but this…"But, as I said, I like stupidity."

Harry was lying on the floor, with no visibly injury apart from the mess his uncle left of him; it was how he had been first taken to the Dark Lord's clutches; in Harry's mind, he was not healed.

"You live a pitiful life," said the Dark Lord. "I understand. I understand the nonsensical abuse of muggles. You and I are more alike than you think."

"We are _not_."

Harry could barely speak, but he speaks that.

"I see that perhaps I mistook your stubbornness, for bravery."

"Same thing."

"You are no philosopher. Do not pretend to be one… Join me."

"Do you not geddit? Tired," said Harry. Though he did not move, his eyes seemed to close a little tighter. His body was no longer under his control. Just a dead weight that was shutting down. Doing enough to keep him breathing, his heart beating, but no more than that. Any doctor would say he was dying.

"I'm not surprised," said the Dark Lord quietly, eyes on Harry, hand on his shoulder blade in some phantom version of protectiveness. "You've been through a lot…" The voice was soft in Harry's ear, like a pillow. "Do you understand why Dumbledore did not talk to you all year?"

"'Cause he didn't want you to possess me or summin'."

"Surely there was way to do that which put you through less suffering?"

Harry rolled over, but it didn't look like it was by choice - more like he was falling. The Dark Lord grinned a little more. That was, until Harry spoke.

"I trust Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord next words were filled with undisguised anger. "Have you ever considered that your trust is misplaced?"

"No."

Number three: break him. Mould the new-found softness into any shape you like. Strip him of experiences and wisdom, until he is nothing more than a newly-orphaned child, crying over the dead bodies of his parents in a destroyed house

"You seem to be missing your godfather."

"How do you know that?"

The same way, Snape thought, that the Dark Lord knew water was wet and Hogwarts was a school. It was obvious.

"Never mind about that, Harry. I do find it odd that you miss him…"

Harry struggled against asking, but the question came anyway. "Why?"

"Why…Only because you ensured his destruction."

"Mind games aren't going to work," said Harry.

No, Harry. Mind games certainly were going to work – were already working in fact: Harry's fists were already tightening, his heart louder than it should be and sweat forming and though Harry didn't want to admit it to himself, his thoughts were being squeezed out of him and the Dark Lord cold hear them all: if Harry had only taken the visions for what they were (false), if only…

"_Look_ at you, Harry" said the Dark Lord softly. "What a burden guilt is, what a testament you are to the pitfalls of love."

Such true words, thought Severus, from such an untrue source.

"I'm not guilty! It was Bellatrix!" said Harry, breathlessly. "Bellatrix killed him."

The Dark Lord's voice carried with the wind, whipping around like a noose tightening around Harry's neck. "What did you describe yourself as again? Ah, yes."

The Dark Lord's face was close to Harry and morphed into Sirius's. Empty and stretched. Every contour of the skull visible through the translucent skin…

"When your uncle beats you, when that _muggle_ beats you -a pathetic wizard unable to stop mere fists - what do you think?" It was Sirius's voice, in tones once used for such love, spitting such hate. "Deep down inside – what do you _think_?"

Harry was lifted by his collar off whatever he was on was on in this world of minds, if anything, and hurled across the space so he landed on something invisible yet hard.

"I said_ – what do you think_?"

Lifted again, Harry was chucked, landing again, blood pouring from every pore of his body, so he was choking in it. Words were hard to come by.

"That- Nothing."

"Do. Not. Lie. To. Me."

"Get away!"

A snarling expression of the Dark Lord's was ravaging Black's face – before Sirius's whole composure changed and he sat opposite Harry, crossing his legs, kindly smiling, in his own scatty clothes, with his scatty beard, and for a moment Snape couldn't believe this wasn't Black returned-

"Harry, you killed me. You removed me from this world before my time."

It was hard but compelling watching for Snape. Unable to turn away, unable to imagine himself in Harry's position – facing his own monsterous _guilt_ in a touchable object: his godfather…

"You're not Sirius – You're-"

How Severus wanted to run, do something, stop this - but he had no body to move with, had no choice preferable to staying quiet, leaving Harry to fight on his own…

"Harry…" said Sirius, holding out a trembling hand, which Harry matched with his own, but not meeting it - yet. "Please, Harry? Just admit what you are, what you think when your uncle beats you. Please. Be brave. Like James."

Severus tried to break the connection. Tried to pull way, but it was as hopeless as trying to contain the ocean in cupped palms. He was nothing against the Dark Lord's magic, against the Dark Lord.

"That I deserve it. That I am… "

Harry's hand hovered for a moment more. Severus could see that Harry barely knew anything other than that his godfather was once again sitting in front of him offering his hand. He moved his even shakier one and it gripped around his godfather's like a reflex, like it had returned to some sort of home.

"That's it Harry," said Sirius. "Take my hand. What do you deserve?"

Harry swallowed, but his mouth was too dry. When he spoke, it came out in a sob: uncontrollable, beyond voluntary thought.

"The beatings." Harry's was wrapping his arms tight around himself now, apart from the one loose hand, clinging onto Sirius's. "That I deserve the pain."

"And what are you?"

"A murderer."

Severus, somehow, inside Harry's mind, closed his eyes.

"Yes…that's right…" Sirius leant forward. "But that's not it completely, is it? For a murderer deserves more than a few scratches, doesn't he? Isn't there something self-serving in the pain, Harry?"

Harry's voice was choked, as if there is some broken junction in his chest which prevented him from speaking properly.

"It makes me feel better."

It was as if all decisions Severus had ever taken were leading to this. Heart beating, weight of the future heavier than ever before, the past dragging Snape down by his ankles. Down, down, down.

"Yes," a soothing voice, now. "It makes you feel better, doesn't it? You selfish little boy. A sentence for your crimes should be much more severe - for you're trying to forget your guilt by suffering pain. Who has the self-serving core now?"

Then the hand tightened on Harry's.

"Me," said Harry.

The Dark Lord released Harry, stood up and flicked lazily through images of Hermione and Ron dying, which Harry watched with his jaw lax as if he hadn't even the energy to hold his mouth shut anymore.

"I will kill them if you do not comply…"

And Sirius, in the background repeating one thing. "Murderer".

It was simple, in the end. Not physical pain, not riling Harry's rage against Dumbledore, not alluring to his interests or lust. But simple guilt, ravaging an already torn body.

"And whose are you, Harry? Say the words."

"I…am…yours."

There was nothing left to hold onto for Severus anymore…

…Down, down, down. Harry's sobs continued until the Dark Lord could hear no more.

Harry Potter had broken.


	10. Broken

"Severus."

The world was coming back, slipping in and out, the Dark Lord's face above him, looking down…

Severus stood up, looking around wildly, aware that he was being idiotic but what else could he do but voice he question burning his mind?

"_Potter_! What happened?"

They were still in the same room; Severus and the Dark Lord were the only ones standing. Harry was slumped on the bed, looking the same, though Severus thought there should be something physically different about him – and, given there wasn't, was there still some hope? Some childish hope.

"We all blacked out, but no matter - I became conscious quickly. Your work is done, Severus. You have certainly gained my trust once more."

The last words jerked Severus, but it was only a flinch. The words never actually made their meaning clear to him... When one's 'mission' becomes this, (irreparably?) ravaging a student's mind in the name of 'trust', it tends to be a clarifying moment.

"What…" said Severus, somehow managing to unstick his lips, "will happen to him?"

"Harry Potter… My newest, and most prized, servant. I hardly know where to start."

The Dark Lord intended to produce a Death Eater like any other, a defeated Harry Potter, to be paraded around the Wizarding World, a living trophy.

"Wake him up, Severus."

Severus walked over, held his wand over Harry's forehead.

"No. Stand him up."

Severus, with a glance at the Dark Lord, placed his hands under Harry's arms and hauled him in front of him, trying to not damage him further; Harry's head lolled to the side. An odd image crossed Snape's mind then, of Hagrid cradling a newborn Harry at the steps of the Dursleys, placing him down gently to what he had hoped would be a better life. Carried in the beginning and in the end, by such different people.

"Unhand him, Severus."

Knowing Harry would simply fall to the ground, Snape took his hands away slowly (not slowly enough for the Dark Lord to notice it). It was a futile attempt to let Harry gather himself. When Harry fell straight to the floor, hard on his knees and then his front, it was the final proof that there was not enough of Harry left to gather. He could barely stand anymore.

"How fascinating." The Dark Lord drew his wand, like a sword - though simile was unworthy of its true danger - and pointed it at Harry. "_Enervate_."

Harry blinked.

"Say it again," said the Dark Lord. "_Say_ it again."

Harry's gaze was lost, until it found the Dark Lord's and it dulled, but at least it had changed - in recognition? The fight truly out? Because the Dark Lord was the only thing he knew anymore? His eyes said as little as his mouth. Corpse-like, before anyone had slid his eyelids shut.

"_Say it! _Who do you belong to?"

The Dark Lord jabbed his wand into Harry's neck so his head fell backwards, as if he were an inanimate object, swaying on its knees.

"I…" Harry said slowly, "…am yours".

Broken. Something in Snape broke too.

The Dark Lord grinned. Severus felt his mouth curling as well - into a grimace. It was the only expression to keep the brimming sickness, emotion in. Yet he still struggled to keep it spilling over.

It was over. The nobility and loyalty, stupidity and bravery, this essence of the person which Severus had so fought hard against had finally collapsed. What was left of the boy who riled so hard, never gave in, always stuck to his silly beliefs? The one who time and time again surprised Severus as he watched, unnoticed, from the side-lines in his cowardly version of bravery. The one who had lived in a home – a lie of a word- that was so reminiscent of Severus's own life-moulding childhood and, yet, stood strong The one that Severus had so hated but so admire, never in doubt that Harry was the best at what he needed to be: a fighter.

"Stand up, Harry Potter."

Still in a crawling position, Harry's shoulder blades shook as his arms failed to hold his weight.

The strewn mess of what used to be Harry Potter.

Lily's son.

As if Lily had died again. _Was _dying repeatedly. Like this moment would never end.

When Harry managed to drag his feet into a crouch, a cry of joy nearly left Severus's lips, but was held by years of practice. This small success that proved Harry was still living and would potentially continue to live was all Severus could hope for at the moment. The next obstacle - of dizzying vertical heights with no footholds – was curving Harry's lease on life to a form of escape rather than servitude.

Harry pushed with his hands and, like a toddler, fell as soon as any weight was placed on his legs and grabbed onto the passing air, failed, so his face hit the floor with an unforgiving crunch. The room stayed silent in the while Harry raised his head, blood tricking from his nose, drip drip drip onto the stone floor. Harry didn't once cry out – but was there someone in there to feel the pain?

"So slow, Harry…" said the Dark Lord, shaking his head as if he regretted it, though Severus knew the opposite were true. "_Crucio_."

The screams were raw, since they had passed through that throat so many times before that the channel was carved - as if Harry's response to pain itself was breaking.

"A reminder to both of you, that is. _Crucio_."

Even though the pain usually made thought and sight impossible, Snape saw that Harry didn't even flinch as Severus screamed, potentially too wrapped up in an even harsher feeling. When it was over and the clouds of agony cleared, there was only the breezy sound of breathing, as they lay next to each other on the floor. Severus, panting. Harry, almost silent. The remorse he felt most was that Harry would now have to struggle back up to stand.

"The Dark Mark is a symbol of pride and our newest recruit will only be branded when he has proved himself. Severus, alert me when he is ready."

The Dark Lord could demand Harry to prove himself now…Never had he given a Death Eater time to rest before, shown anything akin to leniency, but the Dark Lord did not like to rely on chance, especially when it came to Harry Potter. An all-powerful God didn't, so neither would he. Though he did have a plan if total domination failed: he would burn the world. If he couldn't have it, no one would.

When the door closed, locked, Severus brought Harry back to bed, nearly collapsing on it himself…

_Severus was crouching, head in hands. He didn't even know where he was. He simply crouched. His head pounding. His eyes were red-rimmed. His lip bled. Two gentle hand tilted his head up, and he looked up. Green met black. Green spoke: "tell me", Lily _said_, "tell me."_

_Snivellus._

_Greasy git._

_Slime ball..._

_It was that face, jaw set in arrogance and smugness, staring at Severus, daring the 'slime ball' to fight back, and Severus would stare with equal defiance, trying to win, but instead he was crushed because everywhere he went he was bullied, whether it was at home or at school; no one cared for him until-_

"_No! You arrogant idiot!"_

_There was Lily, running across the grass, wand out, red hair blowing – furious._

"_What has he ever done to you?" she demanded._

_It was her eyes: so bright, so lively, and so angry - angry because James-Bloody-Potter was being an arse to Severus. She was doing all this for Severus._

_In that moment, Severus Snape almost felt like thanking Potter (who, much to Severus's joy was staring at Lily, shell-shocked). That small sense of thanks would disappear years later. It would disappear when he saw a red head kiss that man. At first, he thought it was just some random girl. _

_The scene drizzled away like a watercolour and Severus was left to stare at the remains of Lily and James's relationship, curled in sleep. _

Severus's hand trembled over a strand of Harry's black hair. So like his father's. Panicked already, Severus felt his wrist for a pulse at an alarming speed: if he was dead, if he was dead, if he was dead...He wasn't. _Of course, he wasn't, you idiot._ In fact, Potter had a very fast pulse.

"Foolish boy," he whispered, then snatched his hand back, to pace up and down the room.

Severus startled. The boy was screaming. His mouth was open wide, a mirror image of what happened in Severus's nightmare.

Potter was having a nightmare – _Oh, the irony._ Then the screaming became muffled. Severus glanced at the boy. Harry had placed a fist on his mouth, and was biting down on it hard.

"Potter!" Severus heard himself say before he even realised it. "You imbecile!"

When he received no reaction, Severus gripped Harry's shoulder, knowing from experience that physical touch helped. Harry wrestled with whatever was plaguing him. Severus could guess what it was. His suspicions were confirmed when Harry bought his elbow up to his face to try to protect himself from some type of blow.

"No!"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, wishing, wishing, wishing that the boy was dreaming about the Dark Lord – though he knew, of course, that he wasn't. The Dark Lord he could deal with. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, however...that was a different matter, less clear-cut, more of an awkward subject –and much more scarring. However, the two combined...Severus felt a wave of heat charge through him: anger at Dumbledore; anger at the Dursleys; and anger at himself for not stopping everything that happened. Anger at Potter, even. Potter's problems were more enough with the Dark Lord alone…

The boy's thrashed, but eventually his muscles relaxed under his grip. Harry Potter's breathing calm and the moonlight curved round his cheek so there were deep shadows under his eyes. Severus let his gaze fall on Harry's pale skin, the chapped lips, slightly open. With the tip of his index finger, Severus closed Harry's mouth - and then he too closed his eyes.

* * *

It was two days later, almost a fortnight since Harry had been abducted, and he still hadn't awoken. It did seem hopeless. Harry had been broken and was now being brought back up again, with an altered brain, knowledge, perceptions. Unalterably so? Severus chose not to consider. All he could do was continue to heal and mend – for who? The Dark Lord, Dumbledore and himself all wanted Harry to mend - so Severus healing him would fulfil a shared desire. Once Harry was healed, however, then the fighting could begin. For now, they were safe. Relatively.

They were truly alone. Dumbledore must have guessed what had happened after receiving no word from Severus, given Severus had warned him how soon Harry could break, but there was no safe way for contact. Their plan had relied on Severus finding the passage, for they could no else until then. In the meantime, Dumbledore would research _Somnius _– a spell Severus was curious about, especially due to Dumbledore's closed reaction to it. Dumbledore would be working hard, given his two favourite boys weren't contactable but Snape was sceptical as to how much the Headmaster could do - not that Snape being in danger would bother him much: it was Harry's that Dumbledore would be working for; tempting a dangerous fate was Snape's routine at Dumbledore's orders.

Snape had the ability to apparate, of course, which he and Dumbledore often relied on – but on the eventuality of Snape being imprisoned in a cell that was impossible to apparate from, they had not considered. They had no need, for if the Dark Lord discovered Snape's betrayal, he would kill immediately.

Harry awoke when Severus's back was to him - not with a gasp or a scream, but an exhale like he was deflating, his head rotating to face Severus as Severus turned, too, in shock. Harry was squinting and for some tumbling reason the first thing Severus thought to do was re-do the charm on his eyes. Harry blinked at the newly-clear world.

"Snape," he said, voice almost normal again, after the groans and screams of the past weeks.

The next words Severus said were unthinking, brash and wholly like Severus, as if in the excitement of Harry waking up, he had forgotten the events of past. "I prefer 'sir'."

Harry's jaw shuddered as it were out of his control, and then he bit down. Snape watched, and waited, unknowing how Harry would react to such torture, such a ravaged mind that Snape had nor the knowledge or the power to heal…

Then Harry looked just at him. Blankly. Emotionless. Obviously not understanding. "Sir," he said, wincing slightly as his jaws began to work again.

It was then, of course, that the footsteps came to bring food. They would enter unannounced, and Snape knew that there were only ten to twelve seconds until they reached the door. Quickly, he grabbed Harry's wrist, shaking it and watching green eyes which did not move.

"You must close your eyes. Do you understand? Pretend to be asleep"

It seemed that Harry was considering him, like Snape was an unknown that he had never encountered. Snape raised a hand to close Harry's eyelids himself, but stopped at Harry's changed expression: wide-eyed, watching Snape's hand, in particular, it seemed, his calloused left thumb. When Snape took Harry's wrist, Harry's eyes closed, with that faint smile that Snape's days had so centred on for the last week.

"Recognition," whispered Snape.

Underneath his left thumb, he could feel a steady heartbeat. Blood flowing round that damaged body and that damaged mind. Harry was, at least, alive. His breathing slowed and he was once again asleep. Snape had a soft urge to keep his hand there, but then the key scraped in the lock, it was opening as Snape turned around and stood up.

"No change," he said to the uncaring Death Eater, who shoved a bowl of soup on the floor, along with a dirty piece of dough that was apparently bread.

The door slammed shut.

Snape turned to Harry, and simply could not bring himself to wake him.

* * *

Harry blinked his eyes open – this time Snape was much quicker to get to the point.

"We will escape from the Dark Lord," said Snape, in some perverse attempt at comfort. "I am certain."

It was different this time. Harry was aware of what Severus was saying, and he stared, in no physical pain, at his Potions Professor.

"Why would we do that?"

It was a slow reply, after Harry's opening and closing mouth, gaze and frown.

"Why…" said Severus, quietly, not wanting to ask the question for his worst fears to be confirmed but… "would we not do that?"

Harry blinked, with the same certainty he used to reserve for only his most stubborn, Gryffindor moments.

"We are his. Both of us. We are the Dark Lord's."

The bruises and cuts, welts and abuses, that had marred his body before had faded to non-existence, but it was always Harry's mind that Severus had worried about.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

Harry said nothing.

Severus wanted to ask _how could I have lost you?_ but instead the familiar bite came to his voice and words.

"Apparenty not."

* * *

The meeting was dull. Potter was not present, and the proceedings were trivial. Even the Dark Lord had to contest with technical politics and reports. Bellatrix's glared at Snape across the table though so Severus was never bored. As everybody else left, the Dark Lord stood up and called Severus over, in an expressionless tone.

"Is he awake yet?"

And how long could he have kept it to himself, really? "Yes."

"You have until this evening."

* * *

Severus must have been too involved in watching Harry to hear the footsteps. Lucius Malfoy's cane landed on the floor and the pale eyes found Severus's through the mask

"It is time."

Severus glanced at Harry. "We may need to support him".

Lucius inclined his head and, though the man shivered slightly at the thought of touching grime, Harry Potter no less, it was a better prospect than torture. Snape, to say the least, wasn't too glad to be near Lucius.

"_You_ are still locked in this room," said Lucius, grunting as he supported Harry under the arm. "I see Bellatrix is getting her way again."

"This is her doing?"

"I believe it was her suggestion, yes."

"She never did leave childhood."

Lucius led them through corridors, room after room passing him. Severus's eyes slid, looking for opportunities, ways out, but there was only Malfoy's power on display: painting after glorious painting. Riches and riches.

"Any news of the passage?"

There was no suspicion from Lucius, just an interested nod, as if they weren't supporting the teen between them who had been deemed saviour of the Wizarding World before he could speak, faced the Dark Lord five times in his short life (including, the most recent, so different to the others, as a broken boy), been abused brutally by his family, picked on by the press, faced a responsibility that no others had faced let alone knew of - and yet still found friends, laughter and love before his very mind had been invaded, and all those bad experiences that he had fought against had fought back from their hibernation, so Harry had no chance, battered and broken and then regrown into something that was a mutation of his former self, and now they were dragging him to a fresh horror.

"I found it actually. Next to a large pillar."

The fact that there was actually was lucky – now all they needed passage was for it to be functional, lead to a useful destination and reachable by the significantly restricted stretch of Snape and Harry. Severus wanted to shake Lucius for more information other than 'large pillar', make the calm on those thin lips to turn into urgency and Lucius to take him there, running.

"Fascinating," said Severus, perfectly blankly. "Was it on the North side of the house? That is the usual place."

"No, actually, the West."

No doubt, thought Severus, given he had picked the North randomly from an option of four.

"Very unusual. A characteristic that could add to its value. Do you mind..?"

Severus knew it was stupid and too hopeful, worthy of a Gryffindor and not his own reasoned brain, but the question left his lips and Severus could only wait for a response.

"Of course. It's on the way."

Severus nodded, unexcitedly, and followed Lucius down the ornate corridors.

Was this how Harry had been so successful all these years, by asking stupid questions?

The pillar was, indeed, large and just opposite the room that hosted the Dark Lord. Severus therefore said nothing as he looked at it, within earshot of those less trusting than Lucius. They had it: the way out. Now they just needed a way to get to the way out. To escape from their prison, drag themselves unseen through the corridors, have support when they got out…

With none of his longing to stay and study it showing, Severus turned to the closed oak door opposite and took Harry into the room. The Dark Lord was spread on his green plush chair that he so favoured. Lucius left Severus awkwardly at the entrance, Harry more hanging off his arm than standing himself.

Bellatrix, the only other person in the room, stood behind the Dark Lord's chair, with barely-concealed glee pressing against her thick, painted lips, her hip cocked and dizzyingly, sickeningly beautiful . Snape thought he heard a soft snort of laughter. For Bellatrix to hold back that much was a testament to her glee for what was in store.

"Come, Severus" the Dark Lord said.

Severus relaxed his grip on Harry, who thankfully remained standing – though swaying like a loose tree in a storm. Severus took a few steps to the Dark Lord's feet, to kiss that hem, mutter well-learned pledges of servitude. Severus knew why he went first and why he must put extra effort in this time: he was to teach Potter

The Dark Lord had all forgotten Snape by the time he was done, for Harry was in the room, standing there in white pyjamas which did nothing to underline his purity or innocence, rather how easily crushed he was, how thin and translucent, that he was a blank sheet ready to be painted in any ideas.

Green eyes bright against his paleness. It was perhaps the worst thing, seeing Lily's eyes meet the Dark Lord's, ready to submit. The same ones that stared in defiance before being murdered. The same ones that Harry had used to face the Dark Lord, time and time again successful.

"Harry Potter," said the Dark Lord, slowly, relishing the word rather than banishing it with a flick of the tongue as usual. "Mine, at last. You made the right choice."

_Choice._ How far could that word be bent? So far it lost its meaning.

It was after a few seconds of resolve, before Harry moved. Snape almost cried out, almost forgot where he was and what was at stake, but he managed to clamp down his teeth on his tongue until his fists curled at the pain. Harry was not an automaton: there was a fight, uncertainty and Severus just needed to latch onto that, once they got a few minutes…hours…days…alone. Time to…what? Use his proficiency with language to convince Harry of the need to defy the Dark Lord? Language, however much power Snape knew it held, would do nothing.

Snape was very aware that he was watching what could decide the fate of the Wizarding world; the rippling actions of a boy who was not himself and a powerful mad man.


	11. the Dark Mark

"My Lord," said Harry.

How Severus wished he had embraced Harry's initial reluctance to use proper names… He would bear being called 'Severus' for eternity by the boy, if only he didn't say those two nauseating words again. However softly and painfully he had said them, it did not matter, for his eyes were as firm as the Dark Lord's. Snape, knew Harry meant it, however much he didn't want to believe so: Harry was a more proficient liar than Severus had guessed, but this faith was not something Harry would or could lie about. It took Severus Snape to lie convincingly about that.

It was a sight that Severus never thought he would see. That he could not even had nightmares about. Unimaginable.

"You saw what Severus did, Harry," said the Dark Lord, in the soft tones Dumbledore would use.

Patient, almost; the Dark Lord had different rules for this boy. Severus saw, though, in his body language, in his gleaming eyes, that he was as shocked that this was happening as Severus, and the excitement filled the air. The Dark Lord is a large presence, and his emotions are no different.

As if aware of the weight that this action held (was he?), Harry slowly stepped forward the four steps to the Dark Lord's chair – one, two, three…four - and crouched, heels shaking beneath him. Bellatrix silently putting her hands together and chew on one of the nails, smiling with all teeth. When Harry delicately kissed the hem, Bellatrix could not withhold a squeal. Potter looked up at the Dark Lord, and Severus could not lean round enough to see the expression and could not imagine what it was like. This was the same boy who Severus had berated in class mere months ago.

When Harry begun to stand up, the Dark Lord said. "Not yet, Harry."

Harry looked up at the Dark Lord.

"Your Lord has a task for you to punish Severus for your delayed recovery, as my newest and closest recruit."

So it was Severus's turn to feel the sting – but it was worse for the unwilling torturer. But did Harry have any will to be unwilling? Bellatrix's breathing was heavy with jealousy, but the reaction that Severus had to hold back stronger feelings: not the fear of pain, but whether Harry would fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes.

"Severus, step forward." It took one step to be next to Harry, who gave him a sideways glance that showed no more emotion than an Inferius surveying its surroundings. "I feel Severus deserves nothing more than complete pain, Potter".

Harry raised his wand and Severus felt everything bad in the world. There was no hope left, in the rolling waves of agony and the knowledge of who was stirring the bloody ocean… After the screams had finished, Severus stood, shaking from both the tingling in his body, the uncertainty of the Dark Lord's faith in Severus's allegiance and the fact that Harry had tortured him with no hesitation, with ease. Harry Potter, whose emotions showed on his face. Even in a grief-stricken rage, Harry hadn't been able to cast an Unforgivable before. Even for a dead Sirius Black.

Harry lowered his wand.

Severus stepped back.

The Dark Lord smiled.

"Continue to care for him, Severus. He can still not stand without shaking – and then we can move onto proper tasks."

_Proper tasks. _Severus left a linger glance at the Dark Lord: _I need to see Dumbledore_

"I think…not yet, Severus. We still have work to do here…"

When Bellatrix closed the door behind her, Harry collapsed in on himself immediately. Severus grabbed his shaking arm before he fell in panic – indeed, alarm – and pulled him back to bed. Silent tears dripped down Harry's face, not obstructed though Harry usually furiously wiped away any weakness but left to fall, as if their emotion wasn't felt and they were just a physical reflex.

"Does it hurt?"

Harry nodded, screwing up his eyes, which made his wet cheeks glisten even more.

"Potter."

Severus squeezed Harry's hand, not painfully but firmly, in attempt to make him aware.

"Speak to me."

Just mindless groans.

"_Harry Potter_. Look at me. Harry!"

The harsh breathing was paused, suspended for a moment. Harr opened his eyelids, a task that took a few seconds of effort, to look for the source of the voice.

"That's it. I need to understand what's going on."

Snape couldn't make out the grunt of an answer Harry forced through barely complying , he placed the back of his hand on Harry's forehead, which was hot underneath his touch. It seemed as if Harry's body was fighting itself.

"Here?"

Harry nodded, a hum leaving his grimaced lips in the strain of the answer.

_Mind_.

Snape drew vials of potions from the cabinets, unsure which ones to use, so opting for a couple. Treating the symptom would not remove the cause – which, Severus suspected, was a civil war in Harry's brain. He tipped the first potion – "for the pain" - into Harry's waiting, desperate, unquestioning mouth, used now to the routine of receiving potions, and watched as he struggled to swallow. Nonverbally, as to not alarm, he waved his wand so the potions slid down.

Harry lay back on the sheet, clutching at them, red-faced, shining with sweat and tears indistinguishable from each there. Severus was unable to do anything but pull his chair closer and, with gritted teeth, take Harry's wrist, until the breaths slowed and Harry's body fight against itself was paused. Harry blinked open his eyes again, so large without his glasses.

"Lie back."

"As long as you don't-"

"_Lie _back."

Snape's raised eyebrow apparently scaring Harry so much that he decided to stop speaking and lay back against the pillows.

"Get under the duvet."

It took some wriggling, winces of pain but Harry did so.

"Sleep."

"I don't want to." Harry's voice was so quiet, like a lost child. Then he shook his head and tears brimmed, in a completely un-Potter-like way, as if he had become five years old or Neville Longbottom. "I don't want to."

"I don't care," said Severus, patting the hot hand in his. Squeezed the wrist. "Sleep, Harry."

Harry barely nodded before he was gone.

It was coming up midnight, and Severus walked to his blanket without thinking. That Snape dreamed of Lily that night was inevitable, surrounded as he was by restless green eyes, shining in pain and determination, and soft words, sounding more like Lily's voice in their weakness**. **

Severus stood all those years ago, under the words of Albus Dumbledore who announced the Dark Lord's demise to a storm of whooping and roaring, so his next – all the more important - were lost within it, but not to Severus.

_Lily _had died.

Lily Evans had died.

Lily had died.

Though muddled as he dreamt, the forgotten feelings throbbed once again.

No one had heard, no one was listening and no one noticed the unshed tears sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes or that his right hand shook as he raised his glass to celebrate the Dark Lord's downfall. They were all screaming about the Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Had-Killed. They had forgotten Lily. Severus stood, stared, was silent. At a loss. Drowning.

Lily Evans was dead, and it reverberated around Severus's head louder than any of the noise around him. No other thoughts could be heard. He even forgot of the Dark Lord's defeat.

Dumbledore took him by the arm and dragged him into an empty bedroom. Pity. Concern. Glances that meant more than words. Severus spat accusations: you said you'd keep them safe, you _promised._

I'm sorry, Severus, I'm sorry…

Severus had been silent for a few minutes, letting the apologies wash over him, and then he asked, speaking over the last few ripples, in a quiet voice, why. Why did _Potter_ survive? Why him?

There is no reason, Severus. There never is.

Then he had screamed at Dumbledore, like a rampaging child, the always controlled Severus out of control. Severus knew Dumbledore wasn't all powerful; he knew Dumbledore was not a God, one of the few who were completely aware of it. Yet, in that moment, instincts were in overdrive and Severus Snape begged.

Bring her back! _Bring her back! _ Please...

I can't.

She must be alive. Please...just tell she's alive. Please.

I can't. Severus. I am so sorry.

Tell me_ he _died, not her.

But Dumbledore couldn't, he couldn't.

The anchor of Dumbledore clutching his arm did nothing; Snape was drowning in one thought: what had all his effort been for? All was dead…. Severus awoke, to find Harry lying on the bed, softer in the moonlight, but alive, definitely alive. Not all was dead. That is what his effort had been for.

* * *

The door was opened, the key scraped in the lock

Bellatrix's eyes looked more lidded, her mouth more pouted.

"This is it," she murmured to Snape as he passed with Harry behind him. Harry could stand and walk on his own and he did so, through ornate corridors to a similarly heavy, but different oak door to last time they had met with the Dark Lord. The room they entered was larger, with thirty or forty Death Eaters standing in a circle, glances reaching their small party so quickly that they must have all been waiting; the Dark Lord was leaning forward in his chair at the back of the room; Snape stood useless.

"Harry…"

Harry watched the Dark Lord, blank once again, all emotion from the last few days sucked out of him, or hidden. There had been a stirrings beneath his eyes when Snape had been alone with him, but could they create a large enough storm to destroy the Dark Lord's work?

"You have proven yourself, in punishing Severus. Hold your arm out for your reward." Harry held both arms out - That Harry did not know what the Dark Lord was about to do was a testament to how unaware he was. The stirrings would definitely have to increase. "Your left arm."

The Dark Lord gripped Harry's arm and closed his eyes. There was a part of Severus that wanted to cast a spell, interrupt the Dark Lord before he could do any lasting damage but that would only put them in more danger.

If only Snape had sought Dumbledore's help earlier. Too late, too late. Severus knew more than anyone what it was like to live with a burning scar reminding you of everything bad in your life.

So, he supposed, did Harry.

And now Harry would have two.

Harry realised what was happening as the Dark Lord opened his mouth, and Snape could see the panic in his features, eyes widening, eyebrows raising, mouth opening to speak… but unable to as the pain of the branding begun. Harry made no noise throughout, but his screwed up expressions were louder to Severus than any groans could be.

When the Dark Lord withdrew his wand to reveal that, red-edged and wriggling, the endless black of the Dark Mark was there.

"You will be my greatest Death Eater," said the Dark Lord. "The world must know about you. And so it shall."

Severus imagined the image plastered across every newspaper in the country, what stir it would cause; the Golden Boy branded as the Dark Lord's.

Harry looked from the mark, slowly up to the Dark Lord's face. Snape was not sure even using legilimency now would reveal much of Potter was thinking. He doubted there were any thoughts.

There was an unquenchable urge to do something, anything.

"My Lord. Dumbledore is growing impatient once again."

The Dark Lord raised a cruel eyebrow. Quickly, Severus bowed, kissing the Dark Lord's robes. Severus paused, thinking they had been kissed quite enough.

"It is in your interests, my Lord, for me to see him."

He must, he must, he must.

The Dark Lord's ego was what Severus weighed every sentence by, the answer to Severus's problems and the start of them, what everything in this Universe would revolve around if the Dark Lord came to power. Like most men in large positions with self-made importance, the Dark Lord needed 'lesser' men to tell him he was right - no different from a child with power.

The silence was worse than a cruciatus curse. Severus knew that if he let his burning tongue speak now, it would be death sentence.

"We will see... _Legilimens_."

The Dark Lord did not have subtlety on his side, but acted in a rather a Gryffindor-like rashness, and Severus had known it was coming. The Dark Lord was satisfied.

"Very well. Tell him what has happened to his Golden Boy."

And, finally, the door was unlocked and the Dark Lord's trust was confirmed.

"And Severus?" The Dark Lord was holding a something small and golden, which he had summoned to fast for Severus to see the click. He pressed the coolness in Severus's hand. "For a little more control of Harry"

Severus nodded and closed his fist, strode past Harry nodding once in his direction; small, unnoticeable by the Dark Lord; useless, really, for it only said one thing, an inanity, _I am not leaving you. _Then out of the room_. _His head burned, heart louder than ever and he walked with barely any idea where his feet were taking him only thinking that, once again, he had slipped back into the Dark Lord's favour, despite Bellatrix's scowls.

As he walked, he fingered the key in his hands: he was free. He had access to Harry whenever he wanted. Severus let out a sigh of pent up nerves that he would never permit in front of others once the door closed behind him, then stalked out the Manor, taking a detour once again by the pillar, committing the statue's form to memory, and leaving by the front door, onto the grassy slopes outside the anti-apparition wards, spinning on his heels and, indulging in his new freedom, apparating to Hogsmeade.


	12. My love, dead

Dumbledore was rushing to him before he could even blink, let alone close the door behind him.

"My boy…"

A hand on his arm. Dumbledore usually knew better than to touch him, especially when Severus was still disorientated, but apparently the nerves of the situation had taken over those constraints that Severus had so enjoyed.

"Get off-"

Dumbledore's hand was taken away with a fleeting smile.

"Are you quite well?"

"It's okay, Albus," said Severus, as he took in the Headmaster's frown and slightly watery eyes. "I have not been found out."

"You've been away for almost three weeks."

Severus swayed slightly, from both the rush of apparition and the release of tension, but Albus's steady hand kept him from falling and, before Snape could resist, he was steered to a chair. Snape obliged, sitting opposite Albus at his desk, who leant forward in his chair, hands clasped, watching Snape expectantly.

"Much has changed," said Snape, unsure how to broach the subject. "None of it good. The Dark Lord has Potter, who has…"

Severus, who has always held his detachment in high esteem when giving reports, paused and looked at Dumbledore, however much he hated to admit it, for help.

"Been branded?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore nodded, his hands taking their white place on the arms of his chair, pursing his lips slightly; emotion came even though the Headmaster didn't want it to, in the shimmering of his eyes. Severus would have been able to banish the emotions completely, but then Dumbledore had different qualities and failings to Snape; their individual characteristics fitted together like puzzle pieces.

When Dumbledore spoke next, it was in a business-like tone, as if wanted to forget his emotion – had to, to function.

"Then there is no time to lose… Of course, it is not the branding of skin but the branding of the mind that we are concerned about. What worked on Harry was not pain, I imagine…." The lines in Dumbledore's face seemed to become harder as he spoke next. "…But guilt."

There was no need to confirm Dumbledore's assumptions.

Snape wondered whether Dumbledore was thinking the same as him: of Severus on the floor so many years ago, Albus leant over him, speaking that word again and again, the same that Harry had spoken, _murderer_.

Apparently he was, given his next sentence. "You must share with him."

"And of my hate for Potter?"

"I think, in being a spy for both sides, you must have realised that magic borne of love is stronger than hate. And you are using 'Potter' far too loosely. Harry is the Potter who matters here. You do not hate him."

"I-"

"Severus, please. You cannot hate what was born out of something you love."

"You are sounding more and more like a children's fairy story every day."

"I do try," said Dumbledore, as if he was oblivious to Snape's contempt, though of course he was not. "So will you do as I ask?"

"I will."

"_Will _you?"

Severus bristled.

Dumbledore smiled then which, for some reason, fitted rather than existed at odds with the strained face.

"Yes."

"You will when the time comes. I will not compliment you because you maintain that don't want it, but I am…very proud."

If that was not a compliment, Severus was alarmed to consider what Dumbledore thought merited as a one. All the same, there was a hated, childish part of him that wanted more; one can never receive enough of their father's praise.

"And so you must," said Dumbledore sternly, as if he doubted Severus's sincerity (a doubt Severus shared).

Severus nodded briskly then gave details of the statue by the very 'large pillar'.

"I am not certain that there's time to find where the passage leads given Potter's condition," finished Severus.

Dumbledore took this information with a nod and, out of his pocket, drew a golden coin that was oddly familiar.

"The DA," said Dumbledore, smiling at Snape's recognition. "You can set it the date we will be meeting on this coin. If you don't find out where the passage leads, I will meet you - no doubt - where the wands shine brightest and the curses are shouted the loudest."

_Whatever that meant _but Severus could only pick up on one thing. "_You_ will meet us?"

"I would hardly leave this task with anyone else." said Dumbledore, dropping the coin, heavy into Severus's hand. "No, I would rather see this one through myself."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise given the war effort would collapse at your death?"

Dumbledore's eyes glittered. "I hardly think it would collapse," he said, before his smile straightened. "But I understand the risks – and, I dare say, my own role in the war more than you do."

"You are _valuable_-"

"As are you. And as is Harry. I will though, of course," said Dumbledore, giving a small, satisfied smile as if he was savouring the next words, "be bringing back-up".

* * *

However much his magic and legs willed him to apparate in the opposite direction, Snape returned immediately to Malfoy Manor, walking straight through the corridors to Harry; he was used to resisting his body screams to _stop, turn around, go back_. Bellatrix was leaning against the wall lazily.

Snape ignored her and moved to the door. Due to the prisoner-like status he had had before, the room was locked. As he had suspected, Bellatrix was waiting to let him in, had surely volunteered for the job. In two clip-clop steps, she was in front of his nose, straight-faced.

"I still don't trust you Snape."

"Irrelevant. Your trust is nothing. The Dark Lord's is everything and _he _trusts me, even if you do not." He stepped forward. "And do you doubt the Dark Lord's judgement and power?"

Bellatrix was easy to manipulate, really. Any accusation of betrayal sent her flushing, turning from Snape with pursed lips, walking down the corridor even faster than she came. But an angry Bellatrix was anything but a tamed Bellatrix.

Harry was asleep when Severus entered. Severus sat down on the wooden chair he had spent so many hours on, and watched. He didn't want to move, take any action, for that action could bring death and defeat – success and life too, but being unhopeful seemed the most natural position to take, because of his past experiences as much as logic: pessimism meant you were never disappointed.

And just for a few rare, precious moment, he could see Harry at ease, lying in a different world, a dreaming child. To wake him up would be to remove him from easy innocence into harsh reality. How could he?

Because he must.

But just for a few moments more, he would sit.

It was ruined by Harry who begun to breathe louder, groan, clench and unclench his hands, twist his sheets around himself. And then a soft word breathed as if inconsequential: "murderer".

A beat. "What did you say?"

Snape leant forward when Harry didn't reply, as if he could catch it again. Murderer, the key to Harry's enslavement – but keys worked both ways. Could it release him too?

"Potter, Potter, Potter," Snape whispered, taking Harry's wrist. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Harry breathed more quietly, moved less, became closer to the peaceful state Severus had found him in. Snape held the position there, staring at the evidence that he could calm Harry Potter.

"Harry."

Severus hated repetition, its non-functional words, so he wasn't sure why he used it now other than to calm Harry – but it seemed to be for himself as much as the boy.

"The Dark…" said Harry, then glanced down at this arm, and all speech was lost. His head rolled back. Snape was half-tempted to conjure a sick bucket but Harry seemed to be in (a version of) control, breathing deeply. "Lord," Harry finished.

Snape found himself wishing that Harry would just say _Voldemort_. "I have never you describe him like that before."

Harry's mouth twitched. In amusement or memory? Snape didn't know. "I used to call him…something else."

"Oh? What was that?"

Harry glanced fiercely at Snape, as if they were back in Potions and Snape had goaded him.

"Voldemort," provided Snape. "That is what you called him."

The word was new on his lips, along with the realisation he'd never attempted to speak it. Bonds broke somewhere, but another burden was placed: a different flavour of fear. Snape's years of servitude had taken their toll and saying the Dark Lord's name felt like a dirty unholiness, however much Severus wished it weren't so.

Severus had been jealous of the freedom that Dumbledore and Harry had so indulged in, whilst he was locked by his immoral actions of the past to be the Dark Lord's slave forever, whether in truth or falsehood. Snape had never truly tasted freedom, of being above suspicion and accepted – into either side of the war.

Snape was not sure where that word came from. Perhaps Lily's memory had directed him. For it can't have been him speaking.

Snape had hoped it would release some memories in Harry, of when he had known his own mind and refused to fear – or, at least, refused to act on that fear. Harry, though, opened and closed his mouth – not in the shock that Severus had hoped for, but in moral outrage.

"You traitor…" Harry gulped.

There was a moment of indecision, as if Snape was dizzy, before he looked into Harry's eyes and whispered "_Legilimens_".

It was unlike entering any other mind. Snape was reminded of a time in his childhood when he saw a beautiful, gleaming lake, jumped into it and landed, hard, on ice, only able to see the murky waters, blurred and unreachable, through it. The waters should be clear - but there was dirt, no doubt from the Dark Lord's spells and tortures, all so inconsistent with Potter originally. It was a blur of which Severus had never seen, and was unsure how to tackle it, whether if he did so with force, the whole structure would shatter into sharp shards.

Severus, though, did not like work with force, rather with subtlety and, through the blur, Snape could see one thing: a blowing veil. Snape recognised it immediately for what it was and what it meant. Severus used the surface of the lake to reflect his emotions nad understandings, a memory Severus had hoped to never think again, let alone share it with son of his love, his enemy. Severus didn't know what it was that made him follow Dumbledore's orders – the Headmaster's words - _you must_? The dream about Lily? (Lily did always give him knowledge. Yes, Dumbledore – perhaps love is a strength.) Harry's breathed word as Severus entered the room - _murderer_?

Severus screwed his eyes tight, and remembered Lily.

_Fun, fun, fun - fun is the answer. Just keep moving and don't give yourself time to look back and think, really think, about what you've done, about what has happened. Instead, just remember, remember all the good times, and celebrate them with a couple of drinks. The laughs, all the laughs. It is what she would have wanted._

_It was with a groan that Severus fell out of the pub, gripping onto Remus's arm with one hand and onto a bottle of Firewhisky with the other. He stumbled in the snow, trying to escape Remus's grip and venture back into the pounding music of the inn._

_"Come on, Severus...let's go home..."_

_Remus had been humouring him all night, like the friend he wasn't, just following him from pub to pub, smiling and guiding him, making sure he didn't do anything stupid._

_Severus turned to Remus and informed him with a wavering hand that they must go back in there, back into the pub because the night was not nearly over. They had to keep drinking because Severus felt a need to and why not? He had to remember all the laughs, all the laughs._

_"No, Severus. We'll go home. Let's get you home..." Remus swam oddly._

_"No! No! No!" replied Severus thickly, and he stumbled forward slightly, swinging his arm over the other man's shoulder, "We are not going home!"_

_"Well, I am, and so should you."_

_"No! Please stay." Severus tipped back the brown bottle, missing his mouth so that Firewhisky landed on his shoes. He ignored it. "It will be fun!"_

_"I'm sorry," and Remus, squeezing Severus's shoulder gently. "Take care of yourself, okay? I really have to go..."_

_"No! No! Why?" protested Severus. "It is only midnight, only midnight..."_

_"Which is exactly why I must be getting back."_

_Smiling apologetically, Remus turned to leave and Severus took a couple of steps forward, trying to catch-up with him, but he kept stumbling._

_"Remus Lupin, you are a light-weight," he shouted. "It is pitiful..."_

_"Just look after yourself, okay? Please?" Remus's eyes were creased with ridiculous concern._

_Severus didn't answer this time. He just stared at for a moment before stumbling back into the bar. All he knew was that he didn't want to look after himself - he wanted another drink. It is what she would have wanted._

_So, he made his way through dancing bodies, and loud music, and alcohol, and aimed for a particularly plush seat where he could relax, clear his head, and get a Firewhisky... Where had his last gone?_

_There was a girl, sitting on a table alone. She had a small face, almost elfish, and hair which twinkled in the light, red. Severus swayed a little more, and then sauntered over to the elf-woman, sitting on the seat opposite her, leaning forward. _

_"Can I buy you a drink?" asked Severus quietly, quite proud that his sentence had come out almost clearly. _

_"Well," the elf-woman blushed and glanced around, "no...I'm actually meeting-"_

_"What is your name?"_

_"Layla." Severus stared at her. She was very pretty. Severus decided that he like this Layla. "You look akin to an elf, Layla. Are you of elf origin?"_

_"No, I'm-"_

_"Indeed." He paused and frowned, his eyes lingering on the girl's hair. "In fact, you also look akin to my g…my friend," said Severus, leaning forward. "Did you know that?"_

_The woman smiled nervously. "Well. Er, that's nice."_

_"_Nice? _Is that all you are going to say?"_

_"Er-"_

_"She died two days ago." _

_The woman opened and closed her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry-"_

_"But as long as Harry Potter is alive, what does she matter?" _

_"Um, right... I'm sorry," the woman was frowning now. "I barely know you. Harry Potter? I don't see the connection... I don't even know who you're talking about-"_

_"My..." Severus leant forward and his breath reeked. He spoke in a low voice. "My love, dead."_

_The woman backed away slightly. _

_Severus's eyes flickered and, in a tumbling ramble, Severus was telling Layla with suppressed bitterness about everything, about the fact that Lily died for a little boy, a little replica of James Potter, and she left him, and that little bastard, Harry, survived, leaving Severus with nothing but the promise of Harry Potter as a student - where's the justice he asks, and he paused and stared at Layla with hard eyes. Where is the justice? He spat, and then his voice weakened. What do I do now, Layla? And he was looking for an actual answer. It was not a rhetorical question. What should he do now?_

_And he looked at Layla, but- she was looking at her lap. For one moment, Severus thought that Layla had been genuinely touched by his story, that had moved this beautiful stranger in someway and that she was now looking at her lap in sadness or perhaps in some type of strange prayer... He leant forward..._

_Layla was fiddling with her dress. Severus felt a rush of annoyance._

_"What are you doing?" demanded Severus. "What are you doing?"_

_ "To be honest-"_

_"What are you doing? Do you not care?" He started to shout. "This is Lily we are discussing!"_

_It is what she would have wanted-_

_Severus found he could shout no longer for his shoulder was being gripped by a big hand and he was spun around to face a big man with dark hair who hissed at Severus, wanting to know what the fuck he thinks he is playing at, bothering his girl, and that Severus ain't welcome to-_

_"I am not 'bothering your girl'. She does not belong to anyone. Regardless, the correct term would actually be -"_

_"She don't want to listen to your crap," the man smiled. _

_ Severus's eyes burnt and he glanced between the pair. "Neither of you understand! She died...protecting a son that did not deserve protecting-." _

_"Shall we take this outside?"_

_Severus he blinked his black eyes. "No. It's warmer in here. I am simply having a conversation-"_

_The man snarled and shoved him towards the door. Severus smirked in return. _

_"Is snarling all you can do? Very well, if you insist on outside" – as if he had a choice in the matter – "then outside we goooo," said Severus, tripping slightly as he was pushed towards the door, through the mass of sweaty bodies, the big man's huge hand hard on his shoulder, and then into the snow, a small alley opposite, all claustrophobic and small and small and claustrophobic, where the man started spitting at him, what the fuck were you doing? Shouting at my girl? Eyeing up my girl? What do you want, eh?_

_Severus sniggered lightly. "What do you think?" he slurred. "I want Lily-"_

_The first punch lands on his cheeks, knocking out a tooth._

_"No wand?" murmured Severus, his mouth filling with blood._

_A grin. "I want to do this properly."_

_The next punch was into his head and Severus could feel the man's ring, bam, into his temple. That will leave a scar. Then there was a rush of air and Severus was on the floor and the man's boot was slamming into him, kicking and kicking, and then he heard shouts, the scurrying of footsteps loud in his ear, and Severus was getting grabbed and he was floating and eight men were lifting him up and throwing him down again and again...And Severus started laughing as he felt the hot iron of his blood fill his mouth because this is what Lily would have wanted..._

_He knew he should use his wand. It was in his pocket. He could feel it but didn't want to use it._

_Murderer._

_When Dumbledore found him, hours later, Severus could see the white of his beard, leaning over and murmuring something, and Severus had moaned, and slurred about murderers, and he had felt Dumbledore's grip tense around his arm._

_"Severus!"_

_"I am... I am..."_

_"No -"_

_Severus groaned. "Do not delude yourself."_

_"You carry on. You are _not _a murderer, but someone who has been around too much of it. Despite all of that, even though you hurt, you can still _love._"_

_Severus Snape looked up and shook his head. "No. I cannot."_

After that night in the bar, Snape had sucked in cool, sober breaths, drunk only in the privacy of his home, raged only in the quiet pages of a notebook, not laughed, not had fun, fun, fun, for that was most certainly not the answer.


	13. Waiting

The moment it was over, Snape wanted to leave. Not simply due to the threat of Bellatrix pounding up the stairs but his own need to escape Potter's face, the boy he hated, to whom had just professed his greatest love and weakness to. But Snape could not.

Instead he waited and watched as Harry sat there, frozen, eyes once again squeezed shut.

In fear that Harry's pose would not change, Severus spoke.

"Harry?"

There was no response.

Severus took the gold coin out of his pocket and set the date for today and, the time, for midnight. In six hours' time. There was no reason to wait. Severus always tried to set dangerous missions for midnight, a silliness he allowed himself to fall into place with the decades of literature that had preceded him.

Then Harry opened his eyes. His gaze went first, not to Severus's face, but on his own left arm. Snape leant further forward, watching Harry for a reaction, but there was none.

"I remember," said Harry, in that same lost voice that he adopted since his mind had been invaded, and Snape wondered if he would ever hear the insolent tone he had so hated again.

"What do you remember?" he asked, barely bearing to speak, to know the answer.

"My…"

Harry closed his eyes as if he was fighting some inner battle, which Snape supposed he was.

"…Mother. And you."

Snape and Harry breathed in sharply at the same time, in separate kinds of pain that were yet so joint, and shock, shock that somehow his own memory had slipped through the unyielding ice of Harry's mind. Harry truly knew what had happened that day.

"We are both guilty," Harry eventually said, "and we are both serving our sentence."

_Guilty? _But Harry didn't know- He couldn't know-

"We have both betrayed the Dark Lord in our time."

Ah. And somehow that was worse.

"I may be serving mine, but you are not serving yours… You don't have one to serve."

Harry suddenly sat up in bed fast, and stared, breathing hard. Snape watched from his chair.

"You're right. I should be serving the Dark Lord," said Harry, apparently ignoring Severus's second statement. "Both of us."

Harry made to get out of bed, but Snape took his arm. "No. We should not-"

"We need to serve him!"

Harry was getting more and more panicked, trying to wrestle his way out of Severus's grip.

"I serve Dumbledore!"

Harry stilled, and stared at Snape, so unmoving that Snape let go of his arm and it dropped to Harry's side.

"No…not that…" continued Snape. "I don't serve Dumbledore. Dumbledore doesn't demand _servitude_, but.…"

Snape stared at Harry's unchanging expression.

"… loyalty. Only loyalty."

It was then as if the very room was holding its breath, all noise and life was sucked away their breath. Some time passed before Harry spoke. Severus couldn't tell how long.

"Get out."

"No," said Snape immediately back, as if he was expecting it though he was really speaking on a whim.

"_Out_."

"I cannot do that in the state you're in."

Harry, breathing deeply still, curled his fist, before rubbing it furiously up and down his arm. Severus grabbed it but it still wrestled under his grip.

"Out!" screamed Harry. "Out! Out! Out!"

"_Harry_," said Severus, tightening his grip, eyeing Harry with desperate ferocity. "This is no time for hysterics - although I know that's a concept you struggle with."

"No no no. Get out. _Please_-"

"I cannot. In good conscience, I cannot."

The tears brimmed in Harry's eyes; the boy opened and closed his mouth as if to stop them, but they just fell.

"I don't understand. What do I do?"

Snape, slowly, hesitantly, placed his hand on Harry's unmoving wrist, his calloused left thumb on the most prominent vein. Harry flinched at first, but then took a deep breath and remained still.

"Then let me explain. It is so simple that even you should grasp it."

"Or…so simple that even you can explain it?"

An insult that was almost heart-warming. "So simple that it shouldn't have to be explained at all. You go… home."

"No such thing."

"That is not true - but perhaps you could start in realising this is _not _home. So you should leave here and start your quest to find somewhere else."

"But no!" Harry screwed up his forehead, and placed his hand on it. "It hurts."

Severus nodded and summoned a vial.

"Take this," he murmured, placing it into Harry's open hand; his white fingers curled around it like a lifeline. "It should take away the pain. You will need some time to adjust."

_Some time to adjust_. It made it sound like Harry had moved house or something trivial. Harry gulped it.

"I the Dark Lord…" said Harry, the moment the vial left his lips; Severus took it without him noticing. "I swore! I mean…is that binding? Why am I suddenly aware? Just 'cause…of my mum…of you…just 'cause…guilt…"

"Eloquent as always. Swearing an oath under…torture, Harry, is hardly a fair circumstance. Hardly binding."

"Magically though?"

"I have been spying for years with the Dark Mark, have I not? Regardless, the only thing we should be thinking about right now is escape."

_Escape_ sounded so delicious. Where those marks were still on his arm, it was no escape for Harry at all. Snape understood.

There were deep breaths in response, the rasping kind that sounded like they hurt.

Then there was a nod.

And then, finally, speech.

"Ok," said Harry. "Let's go."

Severus felt like - and he had never felt this before, - jumping up and running down the corridor, whooping like some idiotic Gryffindor who had just won the House Cup. Instead, he nodded in return.

"Finally, a good idea. It is good to see the Dragon return."

"It did feel like I was asleep…"

"I'm glad I tickled."

Their waited for midnight, sitting almost disbelievingly in the pressing walls that they could soon leave, glancing at each other in silence, weary but excited. Even Snape could not stop the anticipation tugging like a runaway kite.

"It's like," Harry had explained quietly, "I had been behind ice all this time. Cold and dark. Not hearing, not seeing, just sensing the world around me."

Severus too, had fallen to using the metaphor of ice to describing Harry's mental state when he had been in Harry's mind, but that did not even seem enough.

"But the world didn't come as a surprise to me when I…woke up again…" continued Harry. "Woke up isn't the right phrase… Stopped hibernating?"

"You are not a hedgehog," said Snape blankly.

"Good point. I had known where I was and my surroundings, but I wasn't seeing them through my eyes or my thoughts…It was beyond…"

Harry faded out.

"Beyond the English language," provided Severus.

_Any language, really_.

"So…what do we do when we…escape?"

"I will take you of this chamber, as if you are ill and I am taking you to the Dark Lord…"

Together, they went through the finer points of the plan, leaning over the end of Harry's bed, using their wands to illustrate certain points and, when Harry cheekily said _Severus _in response to being called _Harry, _Severus simply shook his head.

"Foolish boy…"

Both numb. Waiting. Harry, staying the bed, still and weak, saving his energy under Snape's instructions. Snape, shifting from chair to feet - when he paced from wall to wall, occasionally standing still as if lost – and then back again.

Just as Severus had collapsed back into the chair for the fourth time, Harry spoke.

"Sir, why didn't-"

"I don't want you to call me sir, either."

"But what else can I call you?" No answer. "I'll think of something. So why didn't you leave?"

"Just know," said Severus, looking up from his intertwined hands. "That I have reasons of my own."

"But you could have save yourself, could have escaped ages ago if you'd just left me. I would have been okay-"

"You would not have been _okay_. You are not," said Severus, feeling himself stand up, "okay."

Then he held his hand up to stop Harry speaking. A sense of unease, more than even this plan warranted, was displacing in Severus's stomach, rising and rising until it reached his throat. Even when you have trained, carved and spelled your thoughts and personality, to be attuned and aware of your environment at all times, emotion has no discrimination and can ruin all that preparation at any time – and so it did for Severus. Even though his senses were pinpricked, much like the ears of a bat, he was too involved in the anticipation of the plan to notice anything other than a sick feeling. And when the bile rose to his throat, and he moved to the door, he opened it to find nothing but an empty corridor.

Severus re-entered the room.

"Sir? I mean Prof- Merlin, what do I call you? _Sev_?"

"Yes, I secretly crave that my students refer to me with cutesy nicknames. And shall I call you…_Hazz_?"

A bubble of laughter burst from Harry's lips - or was it Snape's own?

"I'll give you a choice - Severus or Sev?"

"So generous. I'll give you a choice too – murder by beheading or drowning when you attempt either?"

Harry shook his head. "Fine, you can be nameless for now. Where did you go?"

"I thought I heard something, but it seems I was mistake-"

Then, their arms seared.

A scream. Harry bent over, as if his spine had forced him to or disappeared completely, hands wrapped around his forehead and left arm, his screaming, freezing Snape into a spot whose arm had long since stopped hurting, before he rushed to Harry, took his chin, looked into his eyes, loudly repeating his surname, and then falling into even his first name, _Harry, Harry, Harry_, seeing that Harry's nails were digging into his scar too and, slowly, his gaze moved to the door…Severus was up, grabbing at the handle almost in the same movement, into the corridor, looking up and down and up and down, silencing Harry with his wand to listen for the voices of condemnation, confirmation that Harry and Snape had been found out, overheard while talking of escape, for why else would the Dark Lord be so angry now?

But Snape heard nothing the faint rush of outdoors, birds and wind, the drip of a nearby, leaking tap and his own breathing. For a moment he wanted to stay there, pretend that those harmless sounds were all that existed, but he knew he must return to the now-silent screaming of Harry, the threat of the chase of the Dark Lord, the escape. Then he breathed in, smelled the faint perfume of Bellatrix Lestrange and whispered a spell that told him that she had been him a mere ten minutes ago. Enough time to hear Snape and Harry speak, to hear too much.

Snape could only think of the bile that rose to his throat earlier. How had he not listened to his body? That had been a sickness of fear, of nervousness, of suspicion. Like an animal that can tell it's being hunted. His body had been trying to tell him that they had been overheard.

Snape closed the door behind him. Harry's straining mouth was even worse without sound, as if it's right to complain had been stolen. Snape itched to make Potter unconscious so he didn't have to feel it any more, but safety must come before comfort: grab the coin, set the time for earlier – in half an hour, at nine o' clock. Then meet Dumbledore somewhere, somehow, without the cover of darkness, or die for it.

"Harry? Do you hear me? We must go."

For he could not leave without Harry. To say it was a requirement akin to oxygen would be an overstatement (not necessary for survival) and an understatement (he didn't_ choose_ to need oxygen).

Taking Harry's arm and pulling (the boy can complain all he wants, moan and resist, but as long as he was with Snape, brought back to Hogwarts, brought back to how life was meant to be, it did not matter), Harry stopped screaming and gestured for Snape to unsilence him. Snape did so.

"Wait, what-?"

"Voice down!" said Snape, aware that his own voice was louder than Harry's, and rectifying it straight away. "We have been found out. Dumbledore is coming in thirty minutes."

"But-"

Then the door opened. Bellatrix stood there, cackling like a five year old – Severus found the mixture of the childishness and her sick twisted mind the most ominous part of Bellatrix.

"I heard…everything…" she said, finally recovering from her laughter, hand hovering over her arm. She hadn't called him yet? The Dark Lord didn't know? Then what had he been angry about? "And now he will too."

Bellatrix's and Severus's wands moved at the same time: Bellatrix's on Harry, Severus's on Bellatrix Harry's, lost. A white spell rushed out of her wand, hitting Harry for only a moment, who slumped undramatically to the floor: Severus had stopped it with his own spell. _Stupefy…_

She had not calledthe Dark Lord, she had not called the Dark Lord….

Peel her eyes open for her and whisper _advada kedavra_, watch her eyes close softly - and that was it? That was the end to this screaming maniac? A whispered spell? - and crush the body into an old wardrobe, barely able to feel the relief of it…

Still to deal with the unconscious Harry, hit by yet another unknown spell, crumpled in the corner like waste. Severus took the coin and set the time back for midnight. Time to heal Harry first.


	14. And then hope

**Part 2: Harry**

The world wasn't there, and then it was.

With it, pain. (Everything about him hurt, tingled, complained).

And taste. (Metal, coating his tongue. Sticky and immovable)

And stink. (Flowery perfumes, interlaced with rotting; a failed cover-up.)

And noise. (A man's voice. Words which didn't mean much to Harry. Maybe the man was talking to someone else. Was that Uncle Vernon speaking? Should Harry be making breakfast? The tone thumped his whole being like the rock music Dudley used to play so loudly that it shook the stairs.)

And control. (What Harry was lying on was hard and unforgiving, jabbing into his shoulder blades, unfamiliar muscles hurting and straining, so Harry sat up - to do something, escape, move - he wasn't sure.)

And lack of control. (Harry groaned, as his head fell into his chest, chin jutting against his collar bone, unintentionally hurting himself and he rolled back - or the world rolled forward, he wasn't sure; his insides shifted, including his brain, lost somewhere behind him.)

And then hope. (He didn't land on the hard surface, but something warm across his back, soft as a cushion but hard too - in a dependable, not painful, way. His bed? His duvet! Harry curled into it more, his only much-loved protection; it squeezed his shoulders…In a way that a duvet certainly could not. Harry could also feel the distinct impression of fingers. Not a duvet at all, but a person wrapped around him. If he was at the Dursleys, who was holding him? Then the warmth across his back was under his knees too, and he was rising, fully and gently supported, before being lowered onto something that wrapped around him, letting him sink into it. An actual duvet this time?)

A kiss. (Something warm and sweaty under his neck, tilting his head forward – or was it him that was sweaty? – so something cool touched his lips, like Cho; Cho's hands in his hair, lips brushing against his own, teasing him, then fully pressing her lips against his, tongue running gently along his teeth before… No. Cho, Cho had done a bad thing. He didn't like Cho anymore, did he?)

And, finally, relief. (Pouring down his throat, like burn salve on his very being, relaxing unfamiliar muscles, making his head okay again, body calm down and stop screaming. Not Cho at all, for there was no pain. Hot and cold, he was dizzy from the range of senses.)

Darkness. (Garbled words rocking Harry into sleep, warm, smiling peace, where he knew nothing, felt nothing).

Time must have passed, Harry supposed. The black pressing on his eyelids was heavier.

"I…don't…" he said, not that he recognised the voice.

Harry did not know what he was saying, or why, but it seemed the best way to sum up his situation: a negative, a lack of.

"Harry? Can you hear me?"

The same voice - harsh, deep – reverberating through everything, buzzing like bees, making honey.

"Obviously not. Unless you are ignoring me, as usual?"

But, oh, bees could _sting_.

"_Harry_."

The harsh, unrelenting, repeat of his name - again and again. Everything was too quick, loud and demanding; there was breath on his face.

"Get up!"

Hands on his wrists, Harry could feel the fingers. They clenched but Harry did nothing in return. They gripped so hard that he thought his bones must have cracked.

"Leave me alone," Harry tried to say, but what came out of his mouth was a groan. He didn't care where he was or why he must get up, only that he hurt and he would stop hurting if he we were allowed to sleep once again.

A curse – not the magical kind.

"Hm. I carry nothing as trivial as a pepper-up potion with me, so I suppose…"

Fingers, quick on his cheek. A slap? Another groan left Harry's lips.

"You have a talent for choosing the worst action at any given time - but I can be creative too."

A slap, creative? Harry decided to sit up. The hands on his wrists moved to his shoulders, becoming gentler but firm enough to keep him up. This time Harry's very organs didn't shift and Harry sat for a moment, taking that in, adjusting to the light-headedness.

"Open your mouth."

Harry did so, wanting more of the delicious relief of before. Irresistible. He drank the potion or water or whatever he'd just been given - and accepted with no thought. Harry supposed he should open his eyes and check what it was but it didn't feel worth it; too much effort; he was much happier in this dark world, even if the liquid ended up hurting him. It wasn't, though. Harry's head rolled back as the vial left his lips, but it didn't hit anything or flop onto his shoulders, but was caught and held, gently.

"No! Wake up now, Harry"

Another hand on his shoulder, tightening, but it kind of felt like a massage…

"I've let you sleep."

The hand clenched even harder, and Harry couldn't help his breath leaving him in a little gasp of pain.

"We _must _go!"

The feeling on his cheek, again. Harsher now; definitely a slap. Harry's eyes were open and a gasp was out his mouth.

"Finally the dragon emerges. Will it strike out?" Harry's head flopped onto his chest. "Apparently not."

Dragon? Who was speaking to him? Where was he? He squinted and the grey blur became slightly darker. Not the most helpful clue.

"How you have survived all these years, I don't know," continued the bodiless, familiar voice. "And how you have survived this last _month _is one of life's unfathomable questions."

A pink blob eclipsed the dark blob and placed something on his nose. The world became the world again – sharpening and hurting like a cold metal of blade scraping his retinas. Clearer and clearer until the dark blob became a tall, broad-shouldered man with a tilted black head, which then became a face, which then became something familiar….Someone Harry recognised. More than recognised - who caused a wealth of emotion to linger on Harry's lips, tumbling out as the only thing Harry could say: "Snape." Thankfully, none of his crushing, horrified thoughts followed.

Snape raised an eyebrow; he was dressed in black robes as usual, though they were harsher than his school ones with a high collar which made Snape look even more than a vampire than usual, which Harry had previously thought impossible.

"Well noticed. Though I wasn't aware we were in class again, _Potter_."

Snape put emphasis on the word as if proving a point. Harry simply stared as the Potions Master continued to talk in a bored voice, sitting on Harry's bed, actually touching his leg through the duvet.

"You passed out, as I hope you're lucid enough to ascertain. I hope you're done sleeping – I don't know you what you were_ thinking_, though I suppose thinking didn't much come into it? Foolish boy."

Whilst he had slept, the whole world had changed without letting him know. Snape's tone was much the same but – the hand on his leg, the softness in his lips, the eyes on Harry that had an expression not like Dumbledore's but…closer to it. The unfamiliar stone room they were in could have been Hogwarts, if it weren't for the view outside the window: lawns, on and on, as if perfection was natural - not the rolling mountains of Scotland. And the door: heavy metal, with a small square window in and a sheet of metal that could cover it, like a cell. And his body: nothing but pain And Snape: calling him _Harry_.

Harry shook his head, wondering if he could fix his obviously broken eyes….but the world throbbed on; the room - _and_ _Snape_ -stayed.

Snape glanced from Harry to the door.

"We must act as we rehearsed. No noise. No going back and saving anyone. The attack will begin in half an hour. Keep your mind closed, if you can – I must say, you have surprised me many times in the past month in that your mind at least has _doors_, even if you haven't yet worked out how to make them fully shut - and your eyes _open_, though you seem to be struggling with that at the moment….Harry?"

"I- I don't understand…"

"Get up _now_! We have no time to discuss this! We must go!"

Harry pushed back against the headboard as flat as he could be, not knowing anything any longer but that the room was unfamiliar and all he could see was Snape, whose eyes narrowed.

"What are you playing at?" said Snape in a low, harsh tone closer to one that Harry was familiar with from Hogwarts – but there was a desperate edge too, almost slightly wild, as if there were more than stake that potions grades or battered pride… But Snape usually had every move was calculated, under control. Now, though, the man was breathing harshly and staring. Lost for an uncatchable moment.

"_Me_?" said Harry, surprised he could speak through his incredulation. "What are _you _playing at?"

Snape's uncontrolled moment was suddenly gone; Snape regathered and his eyes narrowed.

"Harry," said Snape delicately, as if it were a word that would startle if said in the wrong tone. "You are concussed. You must come. Now."

"How? What? _Where_?" Harry's panic fuelled itself. "Have you drugged me?"

Snape's eyes narrowed even more, if that were possible, and he glanced at the door again before pointing his wand at Harry and whispering "_Petrificus Totalus_".

Harry, not knowing where his wand was – or, indeed whether it was in reach -, brain too slow and mushy to react in time, fell indefensibly as he was made immobile, into the awkward, painful straight-backed shape of the curse.

It felt like he was in the graveyard again, at Voldemort's mercy; Moody's office again, in ruined hope; the Ministry, cornered by Death Eaters. He had survived all those times, though, hadn't he? Why hadn't Dumbledore _listened_ to Harry? He'd warned about Snape, after Si-

Harry stopped himself. Tumbling, panicked thoughts like that were no use in situations like these. He had to concentrate on taking any opportunities that presented themselves. And then he'd find Dumbledore, make sure Snape was locked up in Azkaban like the man had wanted Sirius to be.

Snape stepped to the side of his bed, looking down at Harry with a dark gaze, like a predator considering where to hurt his prey next. Then his lips thinned, before he said "Sorry."

With that and another whispered spell, Harry rose in the air, floating at Snape's side, like some sort of awful puppet. Slave. An aware pet.

"Remember, you are ill, delirious in fact," said Snape, walking towards the door. "Not far off the mark."

Then, Snape smiled, or perhaps it was a grimace, but it was the closest to smile Harry had ever seen. If Harry's muscles were able to move, he was sure he would be shivering.

The fact that Snape could open the door with a key hidden in his pocket, proved to Harry that Snape was the guard and Harry, the prisoner.

The corridors they walked through - or what Harry could see it of his odd position - were walled and floored, covered in ornate paintings and decoration, all almost identical: beautifully decorated, lawns through every window, smeared in ornate paintings like an overly-sugary icing on a cake.

A Death Eater – confirming all Harry's rapidly building suspicions them – passed with a nod at Snape, looking down his nose at Harry, unidentifiable due to his mask. They saw five or six more Death Eaters, some in pairs or groups, some alone. Snape nodded to every single one. No speech was uttered.

They were travelling down - sometimes via spiral staircases, sometimes beautiful wooden, ancient steps and once down a sprawling expanses of stairs, larger in width and height than the Dursley's house. Harry supposed that that was the main entrance to wherever they were. After that, they went down once more - a suffocating, oppressive set of steps, so slippery in wet and slime that Snape gripped the rail with his free hand - to what must be underground for there weren't even charmed ones here.

Snape took him straight on, but they passed side-passage after side-passage, cell after cell after cell, stretching into the blackness like they were in a House of Mirrors at the muggle fair. Harry had visited one with the Dursleys and remembered then, too, the feeling that his fear was around every corner, inescapable, like a nightmare; limitless: there, it had been Dudley, chasing him and laughing; here, it was Death Eaters, Snape.

The dungeons were lit only by the flickering of candles and the black doors, which were much heavier than even the one to the room Harry had woken up in, seemed to suck away any gold, light or warmth from the candles' glow – so the whole place seemed unnaturally dark.

On the outside of each door was an image of what must have been the cell inside. A Wizard's CCTV, almost. Most cells were empty with twisted chains and odd instruments used now only as spider's homes. The occasional room, though, contained a prisoner – a lifeless nameless prisoner who Harry had only a passing moment to look at as Snape walked fast, boots clicking loudly, apparently fearless where he belonged.

The first prisoner Harry saw was knelt on the floor, like it was praying or bowing, as low as it could get but head completely unmoving on the stone. The next was lying with its face on the ground, in the corner amongst – but not attached to - the chains that had no doubt once held it but no longer needed to: a trickle of blood was dribbling along the floor, from somewhere within the swamps of rags that was the body. Corpse. Whatever it was.

_It…_because Harry had no idea of genders. Everyone was so skinny that no womanly curves were distinguishable - and there was no such thing as broad shoulders here. Even though their positions differed, they all lay in the tatters of former clothes, heads on the ground and slumped like they had smashed every bone and simply lay in whatever position their body fell in. Personalities non-existent and wasted. No more than a child of torture, anything distinguishable stamped out. Broken.

Harry wanted to clench his fists, grit his teeth, do something to make his emotional pain physical, but he had to continue swaying uselessly at Snape's side, helpless as he was- no doubt - carried him from his comparatively comfortable room to one of these cells….

But, no - they swept out into yet more ornate corridors, open and pleasant with charmed windows, with an almost unnoticeably quick step - when those prisoners were left to die, nothing to do but hurt and remember their lost lives, lost forever in the dungeons - though perhaps they could no longer think or remember, just were pain. Harry supposed that in some circumstances the loss of mind was a blessing, then he thought of Neville's parents and was sickened with the idea.

Snape moved so quickly, inconspicuously, no more than a shadow, that Harry finally understood how he was so proficient at finding him out of bed after hours. When he saw Lucius, the black and white swirl prancing down the corridor, Severus moved so quickly – why hadn't he for all the other Death Eaters? – that Harry hadn't even seen the man properly before he was pressed into the shadows of a pillar he wasn't aware existed. Lucius passed, swinging his cane.

After a few more minutes, Snape stopped in the middle of the corridor and glanced left and right before his gaze rested upon a pillar, which he placed his wand to. Harry was reminded of the one-eyed witch statue he had used to get into Hogsmeade. But Snape could hardly be-

"_Aperio_," whispered Snape.

A crack appeared in the stone, which then split, to reveal nothing a wide gape of blackness. Snape smiled, once again that expression that Harry wanted to punch right off his face, for it was so out of place on such hard features and in such a situation.

With a jerk of Snape's wand, Harry was flung – yes, _flung_ – inside the passage, unable to do anything to stop his fall and landing hard. Snape followed and the pillar closed behind him with a loud grating. It was pitch black.


End file.
